Tragedy of the Killer
by Geekies
Summary: Francis is a regular man who finds himself hitchhiking on the side of the road. The man who picks him up changes his life forever. Or is it really his LIFE that he changes? First Person Point of View.
1. Hitchhiking

_**A/N: Let me start by saying that yes, this is based off of Jeffrey Dahmer and his killings, to a point. Some events are similar and some are not. And yes, I'm a sick person that likes JeffxSteven (if both were still alive), but no, I'm actually not a fan of Jeffrey Dahmer, I just really liked his first victim, Steven Hicks. Apparently, Jeff felt more remorseful for killing Steven than any of his other victims. (And yes, he killed someone with the same name afterward. ) So that's what inspired me to write a FrUK fic like this.  
**_

_**It's not clear whether Steven was going to his girlfriend's house, going to hang with friends, or going to a concert the day Dahmer picked him up. In this fic, "he" is going to his girlfriend's house, who's name is "Veronique". To avoid confusion, I'll simply tell you that Veronique is Seychelles. Also, it's not clear if Jeff and Steven did anything sexual. If they did, it was consensual.**_

_**Quotes from Dahmer on Hicks before I begin:**_

_**"I was in college that day, thinking about Hicks. I was drinking and in a weepy sort of mood, and I cried about that."  
"...the victim wanted to leave. Jeff states that he wanted the victim to stay." ****~Detective Dennis Murphy****  
"I'd rather be talking about anything else in the world right now."  
"...you don't forget your first one."**_

XxxxX

Dallying on the phone with my sweetheart was something I did almost every day. The time always seemed to pass by so fast, yet I couldn't find a better joy those days. We talked about silly things, such as giving each other the sun, the moon, and all sorts of things that we couldn't even touch. It was because of our inability to drive that we had to keep each other company over such a tacky device, but every now and then, we did manage to find rides to each others homes. The simple pleasure of seeing her for even a little while was enough for me, and she had told me it was enough for her as well.

I wouldn't say that we were in love, because both of us had some pretty little thing on the side. Of course, I was not connected to this person like I was connected to my dear Veronique. In fact, I wasn't connected to any of my other little friends as much as I was to her. Maybe it was because of her wonderfully mocha skin that she proudly exposed with those tiny Seychellois dresses, or the hair that I wouldn't hesitate to pat. Well, in summary, she was gorgeous, but I couldn't fall in love with her. Veronique was far too possessive over me, too demanding, but for the sake of making myself believe that I was doing something with my life, I went along with her.

"So Francis, you'll come over since it's my birthday tomorrow right?" Veronique sounded nervous at the question, possibly thinking that I'd tell her that I was doing something else for her birthday, "I mean, I told my folks that you might be coming over so they're cleaning the house like crazy. I'd feel horrible if their hard work was wasted."

Hearing her list every reason why I wouldn't care to come, I rolled my eyes with a slight smile and stopped her from speaking. "I'll have to find a ride but I'll end up coming." Instantly, I began to think of anyone who wasn't busy for her special day, "I'll start calling around for a ride, _d'accord mon petit chou?_"

I heard her squeal in delight and praise me for simply speaking my native language. She would tell me many times how she found French enchanting and how I should only use it around her when I felt that she deserved to hear 'such an amazing language'. I never thought that she deserved anything really, but I loved my language and decided to speak it to her when she felt that she deserved to hear it. When were those times? When she was about to become more excited than a pack of kids receiving free toys and candy. "Francis, thank you so freaking much! You don't have to rush to come over! Just come when you can!"

That meant that she would be waiting for me all day, and when I finally arrive at her home, she would break down in tears and ask me why I didn't get there sooner. So after a drawn out goodbye, we ended our call, and I dialed the number of my dear friend, Antonio. Long and unsuccessful call short; he would not be able to take me to Veronique's house. Neither would Gilbert, who happened to be hanging out with Antonio when I called.

The next phone calls I made were also unsuccessful, and the only thing I could think of was taking a bus. Disgust came over me, thinking of those horrid people on the bus, who now do not seem so bad compared to some people I have met.

I decided that I was going to walk to Veronique's house. She said that I could come when I could, though she was hoping that I got there sooner. I would make the long trek to her home and arrive, sweaty and beat, like a prince from a story. It was romantic, so she would forgive me for my idiotic plan, but I had to make sure I took the shortest route, so I would have to walk down by the road and pass the freeway until I reached the side door to the apartments. After the apartments, I would have to walk through the field- which would be nice since there were many shady trees on the side of it that I would be able to rest under after the first part of my trek. After the field, I'd have to make my way through the next city, pass the plaza, maybe get a drink, and then I would be in Veronique's neighborhood. I had told myself that it would be easy if I didn't think about it much.

Figuring that I should rest for the next day, I went to bed after making dinner for myself. The grain baguette and penne pasta would provide a generous amount of energy for me. I wished that I made something more extravagant, but if I stayed up for a long time, I'd feel sluggish.

In the morning, I woke to the annoying chirping of birds outside of my window. I quickly prepared myself for the day, taking a shower, cleaning myself up and such. I slipped on the most comfortable clothes and shoes that didn't look like rags, but then again, nothing in my house looked like rags. Not even the rags looked like rags.

Before I left for my long journey, I took two bottles of water and a towel since it was almost unbearably hot outside. This didn't stop me, I was determined to walk all the way to Veronique's house whether it took me all day and all night. After I locked my door, I stretched out my legs and arms and set off with the most resolute look on my face and a cocky smile as I would have guessed it was.

About an hour had passed by when I made it to the road, which was pretty good since I was almost at the freeway. But I was tired and covered in more sweat than I had imagined. This was not how I wanted to greet my dear Veronique, and it wasn't how I had ever wanted to be. I took off my shirt, finished the last of my second water bottle, and walked listlessly along the road. I had thought that going shirtless would be better, but the sun beat down onto my back almost as if it was trying to melt me into the ground. The cross necklace around my neck became a burning brander, and my shoulders were probably chaffing. To say that in a more pleasant way; not wearing a shirt was worse, but I felt lighter, so I didn't put it back on.

Another hour or so passed, and I was finally on the freeway, but I had enough of the heat! As I stood on the side of the freeway, holding out my thumb, a couple of things crossed my mind.

"I'm going to get picked up by a girl and possibly her friends who happens to be fascinated with my looks."

"A cute girl is going to pick me up and ask for some sexual favor, which I shall give in as long as I get to Veronique's house eventually."

"No one will pick me up. I have no shirt on."

At the time, I never thought that someone in a little 1965 Riviera would stop alongside me, roll down their window and with an English accent ask, "Where to?" I wondered who this messy-haired, Englishman was, and what caused him to stop for someone like me. I was sweaty, shirtless, and quite handsome, a combo that I thought would attract some teenage girl who had just learned how to drive. But no, this man in the car, probably a bit younger than myself so in his twenties possibly, I thought that someone like him wouldn't find any interest in someone like me...would he?

"Um, just down by the Second Plaza, the one off of Indian and Bijoutier, and I can walk from there." I'm sure he could hear the nervousness and suppressed shock in my voice as I concluded that maybe he was just picking me up from the kindness in his heart. He nodded and unlocked my door, telling himself that my destination wasn't so far. When I climbed into the car, I instantly sighed with happiness at the feeling of the man's wonderful air conditioning, "_Merci monsieur!_"

He narrowed his eyes and his set of English brows at me only for a second then smiled a bit. "So you're French." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, which sounded somewhat cold really, or maybe that was the air conditioner. Either way, the way he said it somewhat insulted me.

"I am, do I have to jump out of the car now?" I kind of wish I had. I would have walked away with a couple of scars and maybe a bit more, but any of that would have been better than what I received in the end I think.

A sudden look of fear decorated the man's face, and it really confused me at the time. He seemed apologetic and quickly glanced down at his feet, almost as if it was an act of a shy little girl, then looked back to me, hands gripping his steering wheel tighter. "N-No, you don't have to leave. My name is Arthur by the way, Arthur Kirkland."

He peered at me from the corner of his eyes expectantly, switching lanes and cutting off a car. "Alright, Arthur," I smirked, not knowing why we needed to exchange names if he was simply driving me somewhere. In my mind I thought I would never see him again after this, "I'm called Francis Bonnefoy."

"Can you say it in French?" he asked.

"_Je m'appelle Francis_." At this point, I decided that he couldn't be so bad if he wanted me to speak French. Not many people around the area I lived liked French people or the language, so I tried not to speak it often. It wasn't a violent area, but it could be, and I had seen it become so almost over night once or twice. You could never be proud of who you were in my neighborhood, even if you really were. That's just how it was, and probably how it always would be.

Arthur chuckled and cut in front of someone else. "Beautiful language, I speak a little I suppose. Would you like to hear?" In my mind, I couldn't help but think, _What a kiss ass_. But really, there wasn't really anything to do that for, so I told him to go for it. "_Je t'aime est cette?_"

I stared at him dubiously, "What? You what?" He blinked, wondering what he said wrong. Going over his words, he repeated the line. "That's right, isn't it?" His frown assured me that he didn't know what he was saying.

"What are you trying to say exactly? In English, really." It wasn't funny. Butchering my language was not funny. Not at all. Or maybe he had a word wrong or something, but I had no idea what he could have been trying to say.

"I was asking what time it was. _Je t'aime est cette?_ That's not right?" He looked so sincere about it too, so I couldn't help but laugh at him! He was so off that I had to forgive him even though he very well could have slaughtered the whole language with his failure. "You're laughing at me..."

With a smile and a hand on his shoulder, I shook my head. "No, I'm laughing at your mistake. You mean to say _Quelle heure est il_." I rustled his hair, then attempted to make it neater.

He moved his head away from my hand and sighed. "What was I saying? It had sounded so right."

"Something along the lines of 'I love you is that'. Something like that. How deep, Arthur." I watched him blush deeply and keep his eyes on the road, not wanting to look at me at all. "It's an easy mistake. Maybe I can teach you some French? I'm not in a rush." I didn't want him walking around saying that he knew French when he couldn't even ask for the time.

Arthur slowly turned to stare at me. His eyes seemed to glint, as if he was waiting on me to say something like that for the whole car ride. "Ah, today? I'm not busy or anything, but...you have some place to be, I'd rather you not waste time on me." A lie he told. He wanted me to waste all of my time on him. Wanted me to stay in that car with him for all eternity maybe. He was a loner as I soon found out, a friendless man who didn't pick up men off of the side of the road often, but he had dreamt of doing so one day I guessed, and he would keep them, keep them for as long as he could. He spoke as if he wove a web, and if you thought that you were the one weaving him in, you were wrong. Arthur was the master of words, whether you realized it before it was too late or not. And one more thing, his French was just fine, better than he let on.

Before I could realize this, I was laying beside him at his home, naked, exhausted, and a bit drunk I supposed. He was all the things I was except the latter, I figure because he couldn't trap me with his senses out of whack, so I'd expect that he wouldn't have drunken himself to a stupor. I had wondered what in the world had happened, though it was pretty obvious, chillingly obvious. I felt satisfied to say the least, and Arthur seemed so as well, yet pained. I don't know, everything was really peculiar to the point that I wanted to leave.

The Englishman turned over to me and kissed me passionately, and of course I kissed back, but I felt out of place, like I was supposed to be elsewhere, which I was supposed to be elsewhere. I broke our little connection, "Arthur, Arthur what time is it?" It was getting dark outside, so I wasn't quite sure. Or could it have been getting lighter outside? Oh gosh, I was almost panicking!

"Seven," he moaned, continuing to kiss me. I supposed that he wanted more but I needed to go. I sloppily flipped us over and sat up, away from the desperate looking man, "Arthur, I still need to get to Veronique's house."

He pouted and looped his arms around my waist. "I heard you a million times, she's going to have to bloody wait." He stared up into my eyes, most likely sensing the discomfort. He sighed and sat up with me, ducking to get his clothes, "Fine Francis, I'll take you. Just let me get dressed."

I beamed, picking around for my clothes as well. "_Merci beaucoup!_" My ride remained quiet, frowning at me. "Don't worry Arthur, I'll visit a lot when I can get a ride! You can even hang with the boys and I! It's just that it's Veronique's birthday and I'd feel like a bad person if I wasn't there and-"

"I heard you the first five or so times." With a huff, he dramatically pulled on his pants and socks. I couldn't understand Arthur's pissy mood. I had told him that he could hang out with my friends and I even, and we never added anyone in our little group. He was alright with me, or so that's what I told myself at the time. I hadn't learned who this man really was yet, hadn't looked a little deeper into his actions, which I should have. He just seemed so innocent, in fact he was twenty, so three years younger than myself. I saw him as someone I'd like to have as my little brother...a little brother that I took to bed with me apparently. "Incest" aside, I had begun to view him as a little brother of some kind, and little brothers didn't do anything wrong except switch the blame on other people, so I didn't bother to observe him any closer than I had.

I finally spoke up with what I thought he wanted to hear. "Arthur, if this was any other day that wasn't Veronique's birthday then I would have stayed way longer, stayed for days even if you allowed it, but this is a special day. Well it's night now but you know what I mean." The reason he picked me up was mostly because he was lonely. His brothers and sisters had moved away just recently, and he had the house all to himself, forever. I understood, I felt the same way he did after I began to live alone and mooch rides to places off of my friends and simply walk to the places I could walk to, such as my job.

Arthur rolled his eyes and dragged me into the living room as I hopped into my pants. "I get it! Shut up let's go!" I lazily smiled at him as he rushed in the other room to get his keys. My shirt was nice and not smelly, so I thought that would be a nice thing. I turned it inside out and searched for the head hole. I heard Arthur come in as I slowly walked towards the door, still having trouble with my shirt. All the holes looked the same! I struggled to slip on my shoes first and kicked at one of our beer cans. "Ready?" I asked, taking another glance at the painting of a wailing old lady that Arthur had on his wall. I had been intrigued by it when I first came in, but then it seemed kind of creepy. Suddenly, I felt a heavy and sharp pain at the back of my head. Falling to the floor, I had a quick glimpse of Arthur, who seemed shocked. Ah, what was it? He looked regretful?

I was still and my breathing was at a shallow rattle. Despite the extreme pain at the back of my head, I was still alive...wasn't I? I was breathing at least, so I thought maybe I'd be okay. Maybe Arthur would take me to the hospital or...was this one of those famous migraines that everyone complained about? I always hated when people did so, but I thought if that was what it was then _merde_, people weren't complaining enough! My eyesight began going out, and I couldn't hear Arthur and his frantic murmurs which I hadn't noticed before. Well at least he was freaking out enough for me, so I thought. He took my ankles and began dragging me down the hall to the door to go outside. I would have asked him what he was doing, but I couldn't manage to speak. My head was bleeding apparently, I could feel the blood oozing out of my skull only because it was dripping down to my skin.

Arthur dragged me down the steps of his back porch, and Mon Dieu it hurt! I wanted to punch the daylights out of him, but I couldn't move, couldn't do anything. Even my breathing seemed nonexistent then, but I could feel the pain still. He pushed me under the crawl space of his house, through the spider webs that formed at the entrance. "Stay," he told me. Of course I would stay, I had no choice, but I would have liked to be taken to a hospital. Not even that was being granted to me, and it never would. I remained under that cold space, the rats, worms, and ants using my chest as their new playground, my head throbbing until I could no longer feel.

I lost everything that belonged to me; most of my senses, my dislike of certain things that only someone living could experience, and my life. I was gone, left to be some twenty-three year old with no name to himself. I wasn't famous as I had wished to be at one point or the other, I wasn't married to five beautiful girls as my fantasies had once or twice hoped for, I wasn't telling Veronique, "Happy Birthday you amazingly beautiful girl!" I was nowhere but under the house of some guy named Arthur that picked up a nobody like me from the freeway. I was dead, and I had a feeling that not a lot of people would even notice that I was gone.

_**A/N: Spoiler; France dies. Hur hur!  
**_

_**Ah, I killed him again. Whoops. Sorry I'm not the best writer, but I hope you enjoy this any way. Next chapter! Also, I'm deeply sorry if there's anything too cracky in this fic, in fact I'm sure there might be hints of it here and there, so I apologize in advance. I write crack fics, not stuff like this for the most part.  
**_


	2. Living Death

To my surprise, I woke up standing in Arthur's living room. I rushed to the clock and read "1:30PM". It was noon apparently, and I was wondering why the heck I in the creep's house? Was it all a dream? Was it a warning? Was I starting over? I didn't want to think about it, so I reached for the door handle so I could run away as fast as I could. Hey, when you're given a second chance you need to do what's right for you and forget the creepy loner and his weirdness!

My hope died when my hand passed through the door. I was about to scream, until it hit me; I was still dead, and I was a ghost possibly. I pulled my hand back to see that it was no longer there. _C'est bon_, I was dead, a ghost, and handless. I hated my life. No, I hated my death. Why was I still there? Was I being punished? Those thoughts crossed my mind frequently. I figured that if I went outside then I'd disappear completely since my hand did. I wanted so badly to leave Arthur's house though, so I couldn't help but want to disappear. Would it be forever? I didn't care! I was dead, and stuck in the house of my murderer! So I walked through the door and stepped into the sunlight.

To my dismay, I woke up standing in Arthur's living room. My hand was back, so that was exciting. I slowly made my way to the clock and read "1:30PM". It was the next day, same time. I guessed that this was limbo...but I heard that ghosts in limbo did the same shit over and over again without knowing it. The thought sent a shiver up my spine. I figured that this would be how I lived the rest of my...death. So I walked out into the sunlight again, and again, and again. It was my idea of suicide, I really didn't want to be near Arthur. The next day, before I walked out of the house, I had this sudden message in my head. "_Be Arthur's guilty conscience._" I pondered this, and then I walked out into the sunlight. Guilty conscience? "_Je m'en fous_", I didn't want to see him ever again.

The next 1:30PM was the same, and the next as well. The next was eventful. Before I walked out into the sunlight again, I was stopped by a quiet voice, "F-Francis?" I turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway of his hall. He beamed and began racing towards me until I screamed at him. He stopped and frowned, "Francis?"

I sent my arm through the door and glared at the bastard. "I don't think you'll understand this because you're not the one that has to walk through this door every day to die over and over, but let me make this very clear; I don't want to see you ever again because I fucking hate you. Now have a nice day." So there went another day through the door. I was certainly using my afterlife nicely.

Sadly, Arthur was waiting for me by the door the next day. He was curled up, probably thinking of some apology. Again, the message popped up, "_Be Arthur's guilty conscience._" I tried to ignore it as I began to walk towards the door. Sadly, Arthur noticed and stood in my way. I wasn't exactly sure if I would be able to pass through him so I hesitated. "Francis! You're back!"

Without thinking, my fist went flying towards his face, but passed right through him, sending me stumbling through the door and into the sunlight. Or...okay there wasn't any sunlight. It was raining, and I wasn't disappearing. I guess someone up there was mad at me for constantly killing myself. I sat on the steps for a second, taking in the scenery of the world that I couldn't quite enjoy anymore. Then I decided that I'd take a walk and see if I could make it to Veronique's house to say sorry or something. I tested if I could teleport or something, but it was no use, I could only pass through things and not punch the life out of my killer. Speaking of my killer, he came rushing out with an umbrella right after I stood up to leave. "Francis!"

"_Fous le camp!_" I yelled, rushing away from him. He continued to follow, his umbrella sheltering him from the rain. He remained silent until he caught up with me, which I thought he was going to be silent for the whole day, but no.

He held his umbrella over me as well and asked, "Francis, where are you going?" I told him that I was going some place far from him. "No really, I'll drive you there. Where to?"

When I stopped to stare at him and his foolish umbrella that I didn't need because I was already dead, I realized that he had asked that before, but for some reason, I couldn't remember when. Hitchhiking. That was it. He asked me when he picked me up the other day. "I'm going to Veronique's house, and I'm walking."

"Est ce que je peux venir avec vous?" When Arthur said this, I think I must have looked scared, because he smirked and turned back to the direction of his house. "I didn't teach you that much French," I scoffed, "I'm guessing you weren't so bad at French the whole time."

He led me back to his home so he could get his keys, "So I'm guessing that's a yes, I can come with you." He rushed into his room and came back with his keys and two coats. I shook my head at the coat he was about to hand to me, "I'm only saying yes because I don't want to walk." He wore this devilish smile on his face, pretty much saying, 'I caught you again,' but really, there wasn't much to having a ghost bend to your will.

Passing through the car to sit in the seat, I waited on Arthur to unlock the door and get in. As he did so, he kept his gaze on me, closing the car door. For a long while, he sat there looking me over. "What? Are you driving me there or not."

He shuffled in his seat and buckled himself in, adjusting his throat, "I just find it interesting that I get to see you walking and talking still. I was um..." I asked him to continue as he started up his car and backed out if the driveway carefully. "I really like you, is what I meant to say, so it's good to see you again."

I buried my face into my palm, looking out at the rain, rolling down the windows. "Then why did you just let me die? That's still murder don't you think?" I asked, wanting so badly for him to stop talking nonsense. If he really liked me then I was wondering why the hell would he stash me under his house after my head suddenly started to bleed? Or...had it really just started to bleed? "In fact, what the hell happened?"

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and kept his gaze away from mine. "I wanted you to stay with me," he began, "I-I didn't want you to leave, so I um..." I urged him to continue but he wouldn't. He only whimpered at everything I said.

"Well fine, I guess I'll never know what happened to me." I folded my arms and leaned back in the seat, watching Arthur as he drove. He felt my eyes on him and shrunk his shoulders a bit. After a bit, he finally mumbled that he had hit me in the head with a dumbbell. I nodded and began to watch as the road's side scenery passed by. I imagined myself out there, hitching for a ride. Okay, maybe I would have looked drop dead gorgeous to men too, to the point where they'd take me to their home, and want to keep me there forever. Very understandable since I expected girls to do the same. I had been hitchhiking, expecting someone to ogle me, I had expected someone to ask for a sexual favor, but I just hadn't thought that anyone would want to keep me the way Arthur did. It didn't make me feel loved, it made me feel captured. "It's off of Indian and Bijoutier."

Arthur nodded, "I remembered. Are you cold? I'm cold." He turned on his car's heater then exited the freeway, passing by the apartments I had been planning to walk through.

"I can't feel hot and cold anymore. I can't feel things now." My voice must have sounded despondent to him, because he began to apologize, but I ignored it. We passed by the field that I had planned to rest in. I was sure it was muddy from all the rain, and if I was alive, then I would have said, "Wow, this rain was random. Good thing I didn't have to walk through that today." For some reason, the thought of' living back in a time when I could be thankful for such small things and move on to something else made me feel full of despair. I wanted to cry, but my ghostly body would not allow it for reasons I couldn't understand. I groaned as the tears that would have been there never fell.

"You're upset, Francis." Arthur the heartless little bastard decided to say. I wanted to choke him, wanted him to die, wanted him to walk off of a cliff. That same message came back again, _"Be Arthur's guilty conscience."_ I didn't even know what the hell that meant, and I didn't know where the hell it came from.

_"Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else."_

At this point, I didn't understand at all. I just wanted to die like all the other dead people. I didn't want to be anything any longer, and maybe I just wanted to go to heaven and stay there, if it was there. I didn't even know anymore. I hadn't seen anything but the sunlight and the rain and Arthur. What a combination. "I'm in your car and I'm under your house, just that should set off some sort of emotion, _oui?_"

The bastard shrugged as if it sounded nice to him. "By the way, would you like to know where I've been this whole time?" He asked, smiling that stupid smile. I told him that I didn't want to know, but he told me anyway. "Well first I cleaned the house nicely, but for the rest of the time, I've been under the house, with you, drinking and crying. But I thought that it would be unhealthy to stay there every day. I went inside for once, so when I saw you, I was so happy. I think we'll be happy together. I'll do almost anything for you," he glanced over at me slowly, "almost anything, Francis."

_"Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else."_

"Go fuck yourself," I told the message...and Arthur, who told me that he would find a way to if I really wanted him to. "It sounds exciting." He said, looking me over again and finally making it to the Second Plaza. "Where's her house?"

I hesitated to tell him until he told me that he wouldn't kill Veronique even if I gave him a million dollars. "If I killed her then her ghost would follow me around and all of your attention would be on her. So there's no way in hell." His was obviously angry just thinking about it, so I decided to believe him. I finally told him to drive through Veronique's neighborhood and directed him to her street. He did as he was told and pulled up at Veronique's house.

In the rain, her home seemed very solemn, and I could see her light on in her room. In fact, I could see her from her window, staring down at the car. "Can I say hi to her?" I asked, looking to Arthur for approval.

He quirked one of his huge brows and shrugged. "Why are you asking me? She's yours, not mine." He leaned down to look at the house from the window on my side. "I hope you're not saying that you want me to come talk to her with you."

"Oui, that would be nice. You owe her an apology after all." I told him with the most serious face I could manage. There was no way that I was going to just say hi to her and go on. I had to apologize for not showing and I had to tell her that it was all the _rosbif's_ fault that she couldn't hug me like she used to. Arthur placed his head in his hands and almost jumped out o f his seat when he saw Veronique open the door of her house to stare at his car. "She owes me an apology more than anything." He said, determined to get one out of her. He grabbed his umbrella and hopped out of the car. I smiled and passed out of the vehicle, giving Veronique a toothy grin. Her eyes remained plastered on Arthur however, she was obviously concerned.

I walked on the side of Arthur, up to Veronique's doorstep and waited for her to greet me in her usual excited manner, but she did not. She stared at Arthur as if he was coming to collect a debt of some sort. "Veronique, I'm sorry I couldn't make it over," I began to say, but I was simply interrupted by her. "Who are you, and what do you want?" She asked Arthur, close to closing the door in his face. I could tell that she didn't like him just by the sight of him. That was just how Veronique was sometimes. But I was worrying about why she wasn't speaking to me, or even looking at me really.

Arthur pointed to me, his umbrella tight in his other hand. "You don't see him? He's talking to you. It's rude not to answer back." He jeered at her, making sure she knew that he didn't like her much either. By the way that she stared off into the nothing behind me, it became apparent that Veronique could not see me. I felt like sobbing almost, but I decided to tell Arthur to ask her not to slam the door on us. She listened to him and stood in the doorway, waiting for him to say something worth her time.

"Tell her that Francis says that he's sorry," I began, "and that he really tried to make it to her house on her birthday. But happy belated." Arthur rolled his eyes and repeated my words. She gasped at Arthur and remained silent for a while. "Who are you?" She asked him again.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and made up a somewhat plausible lie. "A psychic. This soul kept on haunting me until I told him that I'd find you and get his message across. He felt the need to tell you."

Veronique blinked and pondered this, then after a while, she looked up at Arthur with fear in her eyes. "Soul kept haunting you? You mean he's dead?" Her expression pained me just to look at it, especially when Arthur told her that it was so. She sobbed at my feet, though she didn't really know that I was there somewhat. Arthur had pointed me out but she probably wasn't thinking about that. "How?"

"This guy killed me." I replied, pointing to Arthur. He frowned at me and simply told her that I was killed. Of course he would say that, he was the murderer after all. "Tell her that I miss speaking to her and that one day we'll be united again."

He didn't quite say what I asked him to, and instead told her that I loved her dearly, but death was the start of a new life. I could go along with that. "Tell her that she will have to find someone new, someone way better than myself. I want to see her happy, not miserable." He told her just that, smiling at me a bit. "That doesn't mean that I'm with you now or anything, I simply want her to move on and away from the dead corpse under your house." I told him, and he started to frown up again.

My dear little Veronique stood back up and chuckled with a couple of tears streaming down her face. Mon Dieu, she was such a strong girl. It was the type of image that even gave me hope. I would have cried if I could. "Okay, I'll try my best! Please tell him that I'll always love him." She smiled up at Arthur, which was supposed to be for me but I could understand someone not wanting to stare up at nothing.

"Oh he hears you just fine. I think we should be on our way." Arthur nodded down at Veronique then nodded at me as if to tell me we had to go. I stood there and stared at Veronique as she cried at her doorstep. Arthur was already in the car, seatbelt on and everything when I finally go got in. "Such a damn water works show she had going. It's already raining, we don't need more." Arthur sighed, starting the car.

"I wish you weren't so pissy about everything." I huffed, leaning into the seat. He scowled at me then gripped his steering wheel as if it were the only thing he could hold onto.

After a long moment of silence, he finally stopped the car on the side of the street. "I am not pissy about everything!" It surprised me that he brought it up because it had been a while since I had said so. I suppose he had been thinking about it.

"You are being very pissy right now, Arthur," I pointed out, "Why don't you drive?" Why didn't I just get out of the car and walk around the neighborhood?

Arthur gripped the steering wheel again, driving off to his house again, "It's not my fault that that...that the person I love is just chock full of emotional friends that make me feel bad about every fucking thing!" He swerved a bit to fast to the right and I had a mind to just leave.

"Merde! I take it back! Stop driving! What are you talking about? Love? I met you a couple of days ago!" I screamed for him to pull on the side of the road and slow down. He did so and jumped out of the car, quickly crouching down on the side of the road, covering his head with his hands. The rain was soaking him, and for some reason, I was glad that there were no cars passing by. I stayed in the car, looking around the area, which was just a street that many didn't take in the rain, or so that's what Gilbert told me once when he was taking me to Veronique's house. I had hoped that Arthur was going to hurry up with his little tantrum and come in quickly, but it didn't look like he was coming back in any time soon.

I sighed and passed out of the car, making my way towards Arthur, the soaked bundle of mess. "_Rosbif_, get up. You'll get sick if you stay out here." At this time I decided that since Arthur was the only one who could see me I guessed, I would keep my company with him for the most part. Plus, the message wouldn't quite go away, _"Be Arthur's guilty conscience. Convince him not to do anything else."_ I was beginning to think that whenever I did so, I would be able to finally disappear from this world. So it was now in my mind set, and hopefully it would benefit me as well. "Arthur, get up." Bending down to Arthur's level, I realized that he was in tears.

He was clenching his teeth and staring at the ground beneath him. The rain and his tears seemed to run down his face together. I sat down next to him, not quite caring if I got wet. "Arthur, what's the problem now?" He didn't look at me, didn't move his eyes from where they were even. With a whimper, he asked himself, "What have I done?"

I paused then breathed out heavily. He was asking himself what had he done after all of that? He was really late in my opinion. "Well, you killed me, for whatever reasons. From what I see, you were lonely and killed some guy you picked up off of the street." I tried to think of something better to say, but that was all I could think of. It was the truth anyhow, and maybe telling him the truth would help in the long run.

Arthur sniffled and groaned, hiding his head deeper into his knees. "I'm going to get caught." He mumbled, the rain almost drowned out all the words that came out of his mouth, but I could still hear him. "I'm going to get caught and I'm going to go to jail."

"So that's all you're concerned about? That you're going to get caught? Not the fact that you took such a splendid man such as myself away from all of these people who loved me so?" I felt that Arthur was being selfish. No, he was the most selfish person I had ever met. Killing someone who had to leave so that they could stay with you forever? Not only was it sick, but it was absolutely unfair for the poor victim, which was me. I didn't want my life to end so suddenly. Did Arthur ask if I wanted to die? No, but maybe he already knew the answer, he knew I'd choose my life over him, so it's no surprise that he wouldn't ask me, "Oh hey! Mind if I kill you? I kind of want you to stay with me." It had to be his way, even if he was doing something for me, it was still his way.

Said selfish bastard raised his head from his lap, instantly shivering at the breeze that I could only tell was there due to the whistling sound that suddenly passed by us. "I think you're more important to me than you are to anyone else. I mean, you're here now aren't you? Beside me like this. If I get caught and go to jail," he paused for a second, thinking about what exactly would happen, "I wouldn't be able to see you. You would be at my house, and I'd be in the company of scary people."

"You are a scary people," I pointed out before he told me that didn't make sense, "you should have thought of that before you killed me. I offered my friendship to you! I told you that I would stay another day, told you that you could even hang out with my friends and I, and that didn't satisfy you even! What satisfies you? What did you want that could be more than that, Arthur?"

He rubbed his eyes and took a gander at me, the rain continuously rolling down his face. "I thought that you were lying, and I wanted you to stay with me forever."

"So I realized and so I've heard! I have needs too! You think you're the only one in the world that wants things? And you have some trust issues obviously!"

"I didn't want to be without you for a second. You were my only friend."

I gestured to myself, my ghostly, untouchable self. "And now I'm dead." He began to cry again and apologize over and over again. At the time I thought that if he was really sorry, he should kill himself, but I slowly tried to calm myself, thinking, _"He's the only one I can even speak to."_

When Arthur was done trying to earn pity from me, or whatever he was trying to do, he focused on me again. "Francis, I'm sorry, I am. We can...still be friends right? I-I mean, I really am regretful for every damn thing I've ever done, every...every heart I've crushed, every... every everything!" I asked him if he could calm down and shut up, but he continued on. "But I see you as way much more than a friend, Francis, but if you don't want to be anything more than a friend then that's okay because just seeing you is fine with me and-"

I halted his speech and rubbed my temples, thinking that he really was a loon. "Arthur," I began, "I'm staying with you either way so there's not much that I can do but accept your...friendship bull shit. But I want you to make some friends in the process. Which by the way, I heard you make plenty of friends in jail, but try another route, as long as you make an attempt. You need to."

He stared at me for a long while, then sighed to the ground. "Fine, Francis. I'll make some friends eventually." I was hoping that I was telling him the right thing. I didn't know what else could possibly be better really. The reason why I met my demise was because he didn't have enough friends, or any friends apparently, so as long as he had friends then I thought that everything would be okay.

"_C'est bon_, now what next?" I asked, standing over him. I didn't know what he would say, but anything would be better than sitting in the rain I thought. He stood as well, rain pouring off of him.

His coat resembled a wet towel then, and his hair a wet mess, sticking to his face. "How about ice cream?" He suggested with the most serious expression one could manage after suggesting something so stupid.

I quirked a brow at him as he rushed to his car. I followed, passing through the car to sit in the passenger seat. "You're soaked in rain, probably cold, I don't think I can even eat food, though since I suppose I wouldn't mind the cold treat part since I can't feel the difference, and you're suggesting ice cream?"

Arthur started up the car after strapping himself in. He turned on the windshield wiper and shivered before turning up the heat to a higher temperature. "I like to have ice cream with all of my friends." His teeth chattered as he said so, and he rubbed his hands together as he began to drive off.

"What friends?" I inquired, feeling somewhat distressed that I couldn't experience the what I imagined as blissful heat.

"Exactly," he mumbled, squinting through the rain, "Ah, I shouldn't have taken this road." He tried to turn the car around, but after a long while of trying to not hit a tree, he just kept on driving down the muddy road.

I breathed on the window and was surprised to see that it showed up on the glass. I kept note of it in my mind, "You should try to pass through the grass and turn around through there." I suggested, nodding my head to the tall grass on the side of the road.

The large-browed man shook his head and continued to go through the mud. "I'm already on it, I might as well go all the way through. We'll be at the end in no time, don't cry princess." He sneezed and hit his head on his steering wheel, making the car suddenly stop.

The stop didn't quite affect me, so I just laughed at Arthur as I passed through the car seat for a little while. "I was just giving you an idea. If you're sneezing like that, then maybe we should have soup or something."

Arthur wiped his nose on his coat sleeve and continued down the road. I told him that his action was disgusting and he simply stuck his tongue out at me. "Let's have soup then, and tea too if that's the case. I have plenty of that."

"All I've seen you drink is alcohol," I noted out loud, causing him to blink at me with what I believed was an interested face. "Is that bad that that's all I've seen you drink?"

It seemed like such a shock to him that I hadn't seen him drink this beverage that I began to worry, was it a religious thing? I often offended people who practiced religions that I wasn't aware of even though I never meant to, but he assured me that my thoughts weren't the case. "Well no...but I like to think of myself as an avid tea drinker. I always find myself drinking it, so I always have this weird image that whenever someone meets me, I'll be drinking tea."

I paused for a long time, then rolled my eyes, finding interest in the gray clouds. "That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard." It was the truth. Who imagines how they would be when they meet someone for the first time? I decided that stupid thoughts like those were the reasons that Arthur had no friends. Really, he sounded like a damn idiot. "And I mean it, that's _tres stupide_. If you go around like that, then you'll only want to meet people as you're doing something. Do you think people are going to come into your house and simply say, 'oh you're drinking tea, what's your name? Let's be friends' and then you'll be all happy and joyous? Life doesn't work like that, I mean maybe in your dreams, and maybe in cheesy comedy movies but not in life, Arthur. You go outside and meet people, and in your case I mean you go out and pick someone up off of the road, meet them and then kill them. Apparently that works too." I was playing around with him on some of what I said, but it seemed like he was upset with my rant.

"Okay, I get it. I'll go meet people. God," he sighed out, "you're a professional at making someone feel horrible about everything."

He just thought that I was out to make him feel like a massive jerk apparently. That wasn't what I was aiming for at all. I really was trying to get along with him, but he just took my words the wrong way. "Oh yes, God sent me back especially to make you feel like a total asshole." Actually, it didn't seem too far from the truth. With that guilty conscience message that continuously popped up in my mind, I wasn't really doubting it at that point.

"That's certainly what it seems like. Anyhow, I enjoy your company, so he kind of fails, despite the fact that your words really do sting." He turned off of the road finally, frowning at the mud that splattered on his window.

"I'd rather not apologize to you, so I think it's fair to say that this is what you signed up for whether you like it or not. Don't complain to me, you're not dead, I am." I very pointedly told him.

He nodded and took another turn, "That's very fair. No more complaints from me then. Or I'll try not to at least."

"Good," I smiled, "glad we could come to an understanding, Arthur." It was a somewhat silent drive back to Arthur's home after that. The only thing that made noise was Arthur, who was humming a familiar tune over the heater's blowing. It sounded like one of the songs that you would hear at a super market. "By the way Arthur, You can meet people while drinking tea...if you're at a tea shop."

A chuckle escaped him, and he stopped humming, "But then I'd be like every person that drinks tea at a tea shop. It wouldn't be very romantic at all." Romantic? So he hadn't been thinking of meeting everyone like that, just special people, and I was considered a special person to him apparently, and that's certainly not how he met me. He had wanted to meet me drinking tea, wanted to meet me as a romantic person. I hadn't realized that his tea drinking image was something similar to a girl imagining meeting her prince charming riding in on a white steed. I felt like I crushed his romantic dreams, so I couldn't help but want to shut up for a long time.

Being my first day not stepping out into the sunlight and disappearing, I was interested in seeing what would happen to me at the end of the day, or by the time 1:30PM passed by again. I was constantly on edge as Arthur dried off and prepared some weird tea that I had never heard of. I had tea at my house, but apparently they weren't the same as his tea. When he asked me what type of tea I wanted, I just said, "The second one" before he finished listing them. He had a large collection, and if he named them all then the day would be gone. I began to see why he was so surprised to hear that I hadn't ever seen him drink tea.

I wanted to help make something, the soup if I could, but I reminded myself that I probably couldn't do so. I couldn't do the things that I used to love doing, such as cooking or gardening because I wouldn't be able to hold the tools necessary to do them. Or could I? All I knew was that I could pass through objects, I hadn't even tried anything else really. Well, I tried to reach for the handle on the door and failed. Okay, so maybe I couldn't, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

My hand reached for a pen on the table, and as I thought, it went through the table. I sighed and tried it again constantly, but no luck. "What are you trying to do?" Arthur asked, placing a cup of tea on both his side of the table and mine.

"Trying to see if I can pick up things," I tried to pick up the pen again, "it's not working out very well." I tried to pick up my cup, but failed. Arthur took a sip of his tea and went to find a straw for me apparently, because the next thing I knew, he stuck a straw in my tea.

When I looked up at him questionably, he gestured for me to drink it. "Since you can't tell the difference between hot and cold then I thought it would be fine to give you a straw. I don't know if that would work either way though."

Thinking that I really did want to have some tea, I attempted to take a sip out of the straw, but the straw just passed through me, "Non, thanks for the tea though."

Arthur thought for a while, probably not wanting to drink in front of me while I simply sat there and watched. He suddenly seemed to remember something and pointed at me. "You know, I read all the time that ghosts can move things! I hadn't really acknowledged it since I was neutral on the believing in ghosts thing, but now that you're here then I think it may be believable!" He stood and made his way to his room, coming back with a ghost hunters book. At first I thought that type of thing was idiotic, but since I was a ghost myself, I was beginning to believe a whole lot more as well.

"It says...ghosts can move objects by using their energy or the energy of someone else. They can open and close doors at times. The lighter the object, the easier it is for a ghost to move it." He set the book down with a smile, and gestured to the pen, "Try it again."

For some reason, I didn't quite believe the book. Had the author been a ghost before they wrote the book? Probably not, but I tried to pick up the pen again nonetheless. Nothing. Arthur urged me to try again. I sighed and stared at the pen, "I'm going to pick up this damn pen." I closed my eyes and attempted to pick it up again. Upon opening them, I found nothing in my hands again. Arthur frowned and took another sip of his tea, "Make sure you're focused on it maybe?"

Leaning on my hand, I looked down at the depressing pen. "I really don't think I can pick it up." Just as I finished my statement, a new message appeared, which I was really getting tired of those messages by the way.

_"You can pick up objects, you just have to keep on trying."_

"Ugh!" I yelled, standing up to check up on Arthur's soup, "Arthur, your soup looks done, it looks like it's burning! How can you burn soup?" On instinct, I turned the dial to turn the fire on the stove off and waved the smoke blooming out of it away as much as I could. Wait...I turned off the fire. Wait...I turned the dial. Wait! I touched something! "Arthur!"

Arthur rushed to the stove to see if the soup was done. "What? It's not black enough! What do you mean it's done?" He hurriedly reached for the dial to turn the fire back on then paused. "Francis...you turned off the stove?"

"Oui! Oh mon Dieu, oui!" I screamed with delight, going back over to pick up the pen. My happiness died when I couldn't pick it up the first time, but the second time I picked it up and held it in front of Arthur with probably the brightest smile that anyone has ever seen me smile. That somewhat saddens me now that I think about it. The brightest smile I had ever made was while I was dead, and because I picked up a pen. But really, the moment was more to me than just picking up a pen. It showed that I could do more than just not exist along the living. I could move things, I had accomplished something for myself. Something was bothering me though, my ghostly mind message was right kind of, but that was too fast and too spontaneous. I feared that I would lose the ability after the next 1:30 PM or something. I was still so unsure of how anything worked in the new dimension I found myself in, the dimension where only my murderer, Arthur, could see and speak to me.

"You do realize that I can kill you now," I told him jokingly. He backed away from me and the pen, not at all laughing at my joke. So apparently even murderers didn't want to die. I laughed it off and set the pen down, "Oh come on, Arthur. You think I would kill you? What would that make me? I wouldn't want to give you an excuse to complain more."

He forced himself to laugh and continued to keep his distance. I shrugged and sat down with my tea again, sipping out of the straw. Ah! I could even do that! Wonderful! So I continued to sip until I decided to try to pick up the cup. It was a success. I placed the straw on the table and began to drink out of the cup. I could taste it actually, but I couldn't feel the heat that was obviously coming from it. Death had just become better, until...

"You can't touch that cup, Francis!"

Suddenly the cup fell out of my hand and shattered on the ground. I glared at Arthur who jumped back a bit. "What the fuck was that? Excuse me? I was enjoying the tea you made me!"

"Just testing," Arthur began to pick up the pieces of the cup, "I read that in the book. If you don't want a ghost to touch something of yours, then you have to tell them that they can't touch it."

I groaned and put my head in my hands. "So you're still in control, even if I finally found something that I'm in control of." I felt like a kid under the rules of some strict parents again. It didn't feel very liberating at all.

"I wanted to make sure it worked before I say the next one," Arthur folded his arms and glanced at a drawer from the corner of his eyes, "You can't touch any of my larger knives, Francis!" At this, I opened the cupboard that he had been looking at and picked up a larger knife. "...Hah!"

He repeated the phrase and it slipped out of my hand. I picked up another of his larger knifes and shrugged. Apparently it didn't work for multiple things. "Fine, I only need to say so when you're actually attacking me." I rolled my eyes at him and put the knife back. Really, he thought I'd kill him? Really?

"You really do have trust issues," I told him, "what's with the soup?" I think I had told him that before, somewhere along the lines. But really, the soup would get cold if he didn't do something with it.

He fished two bowls out of his cupboard and poured soup into them, quickly finding spoons as well. "According to you, the soup is done, but I still think it's not black enough." He placed a bowl in front of me, "Here you go."

"Merci-"

"Please forgive me for killing you." He didn't look upset or worried, but he seemed a bit more angry to me. I supposed he was seriously fearing that I'd kill him, the poor man.

I leaned closer to him from my side of the table, looking him dead in the eyes. "Arthur, I'm going to tell you this once and hopefully I'll never have to say it again; I won't kill you. As long as you don't..." I stopped to think for a second, "as long as you don't...harm anyone I know and love, I won't kill you."

He sat back in his seat, "You're sure about that?" He asked, and if I would have known what else he would have done, I would have changed my answer more. I would have changed my answer to something that could have spared everyone so much trouble and despair.

Instead of saying anything that could have helped, I told him, "As long as you don't harm anyone I know and love and make an attempt to make friends, other than myself, then I won't kill you."

For the time being, his smile assured me that he wouldn't worry about it any longer, and I was satisfied. "Alright, I trust you," he took his spoon and dipped it into his bowl of soup. It was only a little overcooked, thanks to me saving it, but it should have tasted fine. "Ah, it tastes better than usual." He stated, taking another spoonful. I smiled and did the same, once again feeling accomplished for being able to do so, but my reaction was different than his.

What was he talking about? The soup wasn't even seasoned correctly, and I was beginning to think that he made the soup from a packet. Disgusting. No one could really enjoy this could they? I didn't even think that it was bad because it was slightly overcooked, I thought that it was that way just because it was always supposed to taste like that. I mean, it wasn't the worst thing I had ever tasted, but it was plain and still bad and not good. I didn't want to upset Arthur again, so I decided to take another taste of it, and another. "Pas mal," I lied, wanting so badly for salt or...something. Arthur was devouring it like it was the best thing he had ever eaten. The poor good food depraved man.

For the rest of the gloomy day, I remained inside Arthur's home, picking up objects, turning the door handle, and watching the shows that were on his television. I wondered if there was anything about me, but it seemed like everyone was concerned about soccer. It was pretty sad that a game had priority over the recent happenings. Becoming a bit upset, I attempted to sleep on Arthur's couch. I couldn't sleep though, and it wasn't because of my ghostly state I guessed, I had been thinking way too much. Wondering if my friends missed me, or if anyone except Veronique and Arthur knew that I was dead. Soon, Arthur came and sat next to me, switching to a news channel, probably wondering the same thing at times. "Trying to see if you won the lottery, Arthur?"

"No, I've been checking the news as of lately for...things." He furrowed his brow a bit, "I really shouldn't have gone to your little girlfriend's house. What if she reports me?" As soon as he clicked his tongue at the top of his mouth, there was a picture of me on the screen. Sucked for him, and me as well. It was an ugly picture of me. Did they get into my house and find it or something? Damn. And worse, I was dancing in the corner with a lamp, probably one glass of wine too many that day. And what was that shirt I was wearing? How unfashionable- ew, did it have lace ties? Where did I buy that?

All the while, Arthur was sitting beside me with his mouth open, probably waiting for them to show a picture of the main suspect which was him so he could freak out. The newscaster read off of her little teleprompter, "This man, Francis Bonnefoy, has been reported missing. We have word from his co-worker, Feliks Lukasiewicz- ah, well apparently we have a video, let's just roll that." Ah, Feliks, I forgot about my job and the people there, but it seemed like they hadn't forgotten about me. On the screen was Feliks, a concerned look on his countenance.

He flipped his hair and mumbled something to another co-worker of mine, upon receiving a reply from her, he nodded. "Yeah, Francis hasn't been for like... days. I knew he was going to visit his girlfriend and stuff over the weekend, and we were like 'oh he just doesn't want to work, the lazy bastard' and then after like...what? Three days we were like, 'this isn't like him'." Feliks lifted his cell phone and pointed to it. "So we called him right? And then he didn't answer his phone, and then we called his girlfriend, girlfriends whatever, and they were like, 'can't find him' or 'who are you? Don't call us, Francis sucks'. And then we kept on calling Veronique and she was all pissed and said that he didn't even come over and stuff. So we decided that something was wrong."

My other co-worker popped in front of Feliks and smiled. "Hi mom!" She never liked me, I couldn't blame her for not taking the situation seriously. "Oh, we walked down to his house and he wasn't there, and we looked in the window and there was rotted food and stuff and that sooo wasn't Francis! He's anal about stuff like that. Any way, yeah. He's missing. His mailbox was full too, and he loves paying bills and getting letters so we were like, 'did he die? What the hell?' So we put out a search thing."

Well I was touched; my co-workers really did care about me. The newscaster came back on, "Just recently, we received note from Mr. Bonnefoy's girlfriend, Veronique." Arthur almost had a heart attack. "She told us that a psychic told her that Francis is indeed dead. Was killed even. We received a message from a friend of his that he couldn't find a ride to Veronique's house because they were all too busy. We're speculating that he was kidnapped on his way to her home. Someone apparently saw him walking down the road near the freeway. There's a possibility that he was picked up, and it's all in the air from there. We have no solid suspects at this point, but we hope to find Francis eventually...On to sports!"

Arthur sighed in relief, relaxing into his couch, then quickly stiffening again. "Ah, I really should do something with your body Francis." His eyes seemed to glint then, and if I knew what he was going to do with it, I would have told him then that he sure as hell did not have to do shit to my body.

Instead, I shrugged it off, like I shrugged off many other things. When I look back on my actions, I feel like I could have prevented so many things, but I failed. Failed to notice the little things, failed to think of what he was capable of before not thinking the worst of everything, failed at being a guilty conscience. No, I asked him, "What did you have in mind? Throwing me in the nearest dumpster? Go ahead." I figured that it wouldn't be any different than staying under his house with the rats and so on. In fact, I thought that if I was thrown in the dumpster then I would be found and Arthur would get his just desserts, go to jail, come out as good as new, and he would live the rest of his life drinking tea and maybe even making a pretty memorial for me in his backyard. What a joke that sounds like now.

He told me that he didn't know what he'd do. "Throwing you in the dumpster is a bit too obvious." He concluded, rubbing his chin. I couldn't believe that he was really thinking so deeply on it. I was kind of hoping that he'd just burn me and scatter the ashes on the beach or something. I had been pondering being cremated a little while before I died any way, but then again, I wanted everyone to see my pretty face in a coffin after living such a wonderful life. And then my wife wouldn't cry over me at all and think, "Good riddens." Why did I want that exactly? I didn't know, it just sounded more realistic to me than my wife crying over me and telling everyone how amazing I was. I wanted something romantically chaotic, even if something interesting came up, such as, "Francis Bonnefoy had five mistresses and two illegitimate children!" None of that could happen, thanks to Arthur, or maybe that was a good thing for everyone else.

My murderer went to bed at 1:47AM, or at least that's when he plopped down on the couch through my lap. It was creepy since Veronique used to do the same, but this...his head wasn't on my lap, it was underneath it. I decided to wander around Arthur's house, picking up things as I went. I moved his wallet to some random place, took his umbrella and tossed it on the floor somewhere, and hid his keys under his bed. I imagined that it would be fun to see him scuttle around for his belongings the next day. I heard about ghosts moving people's things around as I was doing, and I couldn't help but chuckle at myself for fitting that stereotype. What was I called? A poltergeist? Sounded cool, Francis the poltergeist, a stylish, dead guy who stays in and under Arthur's house. Oh oui, that was some title.

The only reason why I was staying up so late was to see what would happen to me as the night ended and the day began. Was there a reason that I came back at exactly 1:30PM? I wasn't killed at that time. Then it hit me, maybe I had arrived at his house at that time. No no, it was a little before then. Wait, I think it was the time that I noticed the picture of the wailing woman. I went to take a look at it. Still wailing...alright. Then I looked down at the sleeping Arthur being a bundle of love on the couch. Still sleeping, and he seemed so innocent. If the police came in and saw him then, I'm sure they would check to see if they had the right house. They would check under the house, see my corpse and instantly think that someone else put me there. Back on topic, I decided that I didn't like the wailing woman.

That night, I didn't try to sleep, though it was on my mind. I assumed that I didn't need sleep, I was in an eternal one after all, but later on other nights, I decided to humor Arthur and close my eyes, pretending to sleep. But those times would help me think about things really. There were so many things one could reflect on after life ends. So many questions to ask yourself as well. The most reoccurring question being, "Why?"

_**A/N: Sorry that this chapter is really long. And sorry that this fic fails. I fail. Also, I wanted to avoid mentioning God and Heaven and stuff but it's kind of inevitable. The "message" is God guys. Just saying.  
**_


	3. Disposal

Bushy brows was awake at 11:08AM, but he kept still on his couch, blinking in the feeling of being alive probably. He laid there until 11:52AM, grumbling at the freezing morning temperature, or was it hot? I didn't know really, but I assumed that it was a bit colder judging by the way Arthur shivered. It had rained yesterday after all, which by the way, I was a bit fearful that my body washed away in the rain. The house was on a slope after all, and it had been raining pretty hard. I wondered if Arthur decided on what to do with my body, and was interested in finding out.

Until about 12:24PM, I was spacing out and watching Arthur scuttle around his house. He had a bunch of bags and a knife in his hand, ready to go out in what was now the sunny afternoon. I guessed that it wouldn't rain any time soon after that and wished that I had gone out and did more on my given opportunity. "What have you decided to do with my body? If it's still there I mean." They were the first words I had spoken all day, so it seemed strange. I hadn't said good morning, and neither had he. In fact, he hadn't spoken at all. Was something wrong?

"I'd rather you not know." He murmured, heading out of the back door. I didn't follow him out, but I stood before the screen door leading to his backyard. I saw him duck under the house with my body I assumed. I heard the bags rustle, and I figured that he was just going to stuff me in a bag and throw me into the river at that point...but I knew very well that my body wouldn't be able to fit inside one of those bags. That's when I realized what Arthur was going to do. I gasped and began to poke my head out of the door until I remembered the sunlight and stayed inside. Instead, I sunk under the house through the wood and crawled a bit to where Arthur and my corpse was.

I was a mess, a disgusting, shirtless mess crawling with ants and spiders and...Dieu, I was like a prune, swollen and almost distorted. My skin was so damn pale and seemed so wet, my hair was disheveled and falling out. I had fucking holes in me and- if I could feel queasy then I would have been. If I could have thrown up all over my face then I would have done so. And to make matters worse, there was Arthur with that knife. "I wouldn't stay down here if I were you, love." I shook my head and clenched the dirt beneath me.

"I'm down here either way. Um...What are you doing exactly?" My voice was really frantic, to the point where it even made me nervous, or maybe I was already nervous. Whether I was in my body or not, I had a knife at my skin, and I certainly didn't want it there.

Arthur pressed the knife harder onto my skin, but not enough to cut me. "You really want to know?" I didn't answer, staring at him, wide-eyed in fear. "Well you see, if I do it this way, no one will really identify the body even if they find it. Afterwards, I'm going to have to have to smash the bones and then possibly burn them depending on how the bones smash." He then cut through my skin, deeper and deeper.

"Oh mon Dieu! Arthur stop that! Don't touch my body! Don't destroy it anymore than it already is!" I screamed various other protests but he continued to cut through me with his knife. "Arthur please I'm begging you! Just stop it! Just throw me in the river or something!" I didn't want either, but I didn't want to be in pieces as Arthur planned. He continued on, and I almost began to tear my hair out. "Arthur please!"

He stopped and focused on me and my what he must have thought was an overreaction. "Francis, I don't want to get caught and this is a nice solution to my problems. Now you can stay there and watch or you can go back into the house." I had never imagined a situation like this, and never in my life had I ever wanted this to happen. I watched in horror as he sawed through me, and I, my dead corpse self, couldn't even raise a protest. Something in me reminded me that I would never be in the body again anyway, so it didn't matter. Another part of me, the part that I was siding with, was screaming for me to protect my body, to preserve my face, my limbs, my everything, no matter how horrid it looked at the time. With a quick movement, I wrestled Arthur's knife out of his hand.

My attempt was futile, because he knew the magic words, "You can't touch that knife, Francis!" The knife fell through my hand and fell to the ground. I tried to pick it up again, but I was unable to. I wanted so badly to cry, but all I could manage was pleads to Arthur, begging him to stop as he kept on with his slicing. I was ignored, and I watched as he pulled off my body's leg. With a loud swear, I passed through the wood and remained inside the house, cringing in a little ball. I couldn't stop him, and the only thing I could tell myself was, "He's doing it so he won't get caught. He's doing it so he'll be able to stay with me. He's a love-struck fool is all, and I'll forget about this." I never really forgot, and I never will forget.


	4. Warming Up to Your Killer

Time was creeping by slowly, but I didn't really care. I wanted Arthur to stay out with the crushed pieces of me in his bags. I didn't think I could forgive him, but truth be told, nothing really happened. He was going to do some horrid thing to my body either way, whether it was sending my corpse through a shredder, have a shark tear me to bits, or even just sent me to the dump. That was what I had been hoping that he would do, but really my body would have been shred to pieces and burned any way. Apparently that's how dumps worked, and that's pretty much what Arthur did. I sighed and continued to watch whatever shows were on, which none of them were special.

It was actually the day after the break down of my corpse, and so it was a new day. Arthur had been so tired from cutting me down and smashing me that he decided to take the bags to a dump the next day, which was then. When he came back, I'd still be in a weepy mood, sitting on the couch. Nothing new about my disappearance came up, so I supposed that Arthur would get away with my murder if no one ever found the little bits of me everywhere. Of course if he confessed then he would have been found out, but it didn't look like he was going to do that any time soon.

Arthur waltzed into the house, a huge smile on his face, and I pretended to not acknowledge that he was there. "I'm back, Francis." He almost sang out. I didn't turn to him or acknowledge him at all, flipping the channel on the remote. I felt so lazy in Arthur's house, mostly because I usually didn't watch anything on the television. I was mostly always at a friend's house, at work or...something. Never television unless I was sick.

He sat next to me on the couch and frowned. "You're mad." He observed as I continued to ignore him. "Don't be mad, please? I have no more problems to worry about now, or so I hope. I'm happy, so be happy too."

"People don't work like that, we have our own thoughts." I mumbled, making sure not to actually look at him. His gaze never left me as I switched channels. After a while he shrugged and watched television with me until he became hungry. "I'm going to make something. Want anything?" I shook my head and switched channels again. He sighed and grabbed a bag of cookies from the kitchen, "You know, you're welcome to do anything you want that won't cause harm to me as long as you're capable of doing so." I turned away from the television as a rather distressed man told spectators to hide their kids, hide their wives, and so on, and glared at Arthur.

Really, did he think that I just sat in one place all day? I walked around as he slept, and I was beginning to think of going out at night if my ghostly body allowed it. I didn't think it would be a problem since there was no sunlight, but who knew. As if he read my mind, he asked if I planned to go outside any time soon. I folded my arms and directed my attention to the ceiling, "Why do you ask? Something you want to wreck?"

It wasn't that I thought he would wreck something, it was just to show that I didn't like him very much then, or I was trying not to at least. "What? No. I was just thinking of going out for a drink or something."

"You're twenty, so you're underage. I was already surprised that you managed to buy alcohol anyway," I thought for a second, "plus it would be odd to have two drinks there, one moving and slowly emptying mug, and an empty seat." My belief was that he wasn't thinking much at all about those things, and I had a feeling that he would continue to forget about my absence in the human world.

Of course, he had an idea. "We'll share a mug and you can drink out of a straw," he smiled, "kind of like you were drinking the tea." Gee. I would have thought that he would want to lay low forever, but apparently not. He was suddenly just free of cares since he disposed of my body in a manner that he probably would have called the proper way. It was infuriating, because I knew that if I brought it up then he would get all pissy again. Though I didn't quite care for the guy unless you counted his feelings somewhat, I didn't want to upset him so much anymore. I had enough of his whining little "well you're mean to me you keep bringing things up" complaints, and his "don't be mad at me just because I killed you" or "I don't want you to kill me, everything my way" statements. He just thought that he was correct all the time, a true British scumbag. I couldn't speak my mind, only Arthur could speak his mind. Hadn't I asked him to accept my complaints and stop his? I think he agreed to it too.

At that point, I decided to give up on reasoning with _le salaud_ and just pretend to agree with him, even if there was nothing to agree with. It would be pretty annoying for him too. "Fine, Arthur. Let's go out tonight and share a drink and I'll drink out of a straw, kind of like I was drinking the tea." By the look of his face, I could tell that he was wondering why I pretty much repeated him. "I hope night comes soon."

It didn't. For a long time, we sat inside the house and I listened to Arthur sing along to some old rock songs. I think I died a second time. His voice wasn't horrible, I just couldn't take the music very well. It was clashing with me for some reason, and it was upsetting because I had listened to similar songs when I was alive. I supposed that ghosts couldn't handle loud music. I couldn't help but constantly tell Arthur, "This is why you have no friends." All he could do was smirk and continue to sing. It wasn't why, but whatever.

Finally, the sun went down, and Arthur drove us to a bar that I had gone to once or twice with Antonio and Gilbert. We stopped going because Gilbert...yes, I won't go into that much, but apparently dancing on the tables was something that the manager of the bar didn't commend. It was really bad because he remembered our faces too. Any way, the place was somewhat empty and it was pretty nice really. There were some people in the corner playing cards, some sobbing men in the front, and the damn manager. It seemed like he was staring at me, but I assured myself that he couldn't even see me.

"Just one, and a straw," Arthur ordered, plopping down in a stool with no one sitting beside him. The manager seemed to stare at me, then shrugged, going off to get Arthur a mug. I wondered if he could see me, he seemed to look right at me twice! "I want to talk to you but I think people might think I'm crazy," Arthur whispered, taking the mug from the manager and slipping in the straw. He gestured for me to drink and I sipped out of the straw when the manager wasn't watching.

"It's fine, Arthur. Silence is golden." I took another sip from the straw as the manager turned around. It felt like a game really. Arthur didn't know what to think of my comment I guessed, and so he didn't remark back, taking the mug from me and taking a generous swallow. So it went on like that for a while, until the manager told Arthur that he should lay off of the alcohol or else he wouldn't be able to drive back home. Little did he know, or maybe he did, that I was there. I who could no longer get drunk, hah hah! I wasn't exactly sure how that worked but that's how it went. Something like not being able to feel temperatures. But actually, since I couldn't drive, Arthur ended up driving us home still, but I helped him as much as I could. It was good team work indeed.

When Arthur sloppily parked in his driveway, and stumbled out of his car without even closing his door, I took the liberty of closing it for him, which if anyone saw they probably would have freaked out at the sight of a door closing "without anyone touching it". I helped him open the door and before he passed out in the living room, I guided him towards his bedroom. "You should stick to tea," I told him as he fell onto his bed and groaned, "lay down correctly so I can tuck you in."

He pouted and rolled around on his sheets until he found himself under the covers, his head resting on the pillows. I adjusted the blankets and watched him lull off to sleep. "Good night, Arthur." Out of boredom, I sat on the bed and watched Arthur...apparently pretend to sleep.

"Francis," Arthur sat up quickly, making me jump in fear, "you should lay under the blankets with me." He stared for a long time as I didn't answer because his sudden outburst shocked me into silence. Before I could say anything, he fell back into his pillow and began to snore. After a while of wondering if he was asleep or not, I decided that I would sleep next to him as he asked. I didn't sleep really, nor was I under the cover, but I laid on top of the sheets, closing my eyes at times and just thinking, and for some of the rest of the time, I watched Arthur sleep. We had many moments like those, most fairly similar, and as much as I hate to admit it, we became quite close, probably more close than we would have been if he hadn't killed me. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but that's just how it turned out.

Through our friendship, if that's what one would call it, I really thought he'd stay out of trouble for the rest of his days. It was a shame that I was suddenly sent home after we spent so much time together, after so many days of bonding even. Anyway, he really did look like an innocent little angel then, and I was simply a ghost. I felt a bit out of place by his side, felt evil even. After a couple of years, I would never think that of myself. I would be a damn saint compared to Arthur and what he hadn't become yet. Until then, I stared with unwavering eyes, at the man I began to consider as a partner in Death, our strange connection between the living and the dead would end in a short time, but years later, we would pick up on a darker note.


	5. Francis

It had been two years and a bit more since I had been sent to live in what I thought was purgatory. It was pretty average, and the only thing I enjoyed about it was that I could do everything that I used to be able to do. A couple of people-well ghosts...angels...whatever they were reassured me that I was in Heaven, but it was so plain that I couldn't help but not believe them. All I had been doing was cooking and gardening in my new suite, which was nice really, but it was far from my idea of Heaven. I was sure that there would be white clouds and pretty, sparkling things everywhere, but it was just like my old home, which is why I thought it was simply the level below Heaven.

After living a pretty simple life in the land above, I was sent back to an apartment it seemed like. It was nicely kept and smelled of alcohol, I was wondering why I was sent there though. Suddenly, there was that message again, "_Be Arthur's guilty conscience."_

I wanted to scream, but I decided to ponder it instead. What did it mean? Arthur wasn't even here, and I was in some random apartment. I hadn't seen Arthur in years and he was probably doing just fine without me. I was about to walk out into the sunlight or something, thinking that maybe they would take me back to my suite in Heaven, but I stopped myself to gape in horror at a certain object on the apartment wall. It was the wailing woman, that damn wailing woman.

A door opened behind me, and I turned to see who I believed I would see. "Ah, Francis?" Arthur stood in the doorway of what I guessed was his bedroom clutching the head of some poor soul, the body nowhere in sight. His hands were darkened with blood, he himself looked as if he was simply carrying a remote control. He came towards me, swinging around the dreaded thing instead of dropping it, "Francis? You came back?"

"Don't come near me with that...that thing!" I yelled, stepping away from him and the body part. He dropped the head and began to scuttle over to me. "On second thought, don't come near me at all! What the hell did you do?"

Arthur stopped in his tracks and frowned, "Well, you left me all alone, so I decided to take your advice and make some friends." He then went to pick up the head again, pointing at it and smiling, "He reminded me so much of you! His name is Francis as well!" I looked away from the horrified face of the man, Arthur chuckled solemnly down at the severed head then sadly glanced at me, "He was considering leaving and that reminded me of you also."

"So you killed him so he could stay forever." I assumed, acting calmer than I should have been. He nodded then hugged the head, "I didn't want you to leave me again. I love you, so that really hurt when you left." His gaze almost made me feel sorry for him, but I remembered that me leaving was not my fault.

I didn't choose to be sent off to purgatory or Heaven or whatever it was. It just happened, I didn't ask to be taken away from Arthur, though I wasn't against it either. I suppose he was upset that his "little friend" suddenly went away, I could understand, but my leave had little to do with what I wanted. "I'm sorry," I ended up saying. It ticked me off a bit that for some reason I couldn't quite tell him what I was thinking. I tried again, "I'm sorry but that wasn't my choice."

The bushy-browed man dropped the head again. "Well I figured that much, so I thought that if I did as you told, then you would come back...and here you are!" If he could have hugged me, then I think that he would have. "Any way, I need to get rid of the evidence, so stay here until I come back, alright?" Where else would I go? It was sunny outside, and apparently I had another "mission" as the afterlife people called it, and it was the same one. I followed Arthur into his bedroom to see the rest of this Francis person. That was my mistake.

Not only was he decapitated, but he was split in many directions. I quickly ran out and leaned against the counter in his kitchen. Never did I think he would do anything like that again, I thought that he was okay again before I left, but apparently my leave made things worse. He waltzed out of his room with a couple of bags, most of them dripping blood. "You're going to get caught," I told him, setting myself down in a nearby seat. The same message continued to echo in my head, the guilty conscience one. I didn't really know what to do. I had been sent there after the deed was done, so there was nothing I could have done to prevent him. There was never really anything that I could do except talk.

"Before you go out and dispose of that poor man, please tell me that you won't do anything like this again." I hoped that would stop him and that he was satisfied now that I was back. He looked down at the bags, noticing the dripping, then back at me.

I thought that he had been considering that his actions were wrong, that his idea of making friends was incorrect and sick, but I was wrong. "Use a different method? Yes, this one is quite messy. I'll look into another one." With that, he walked out to simply dump the bags in someone else's dumpster. I had thought that he meant that he would find another method of making friends, but I was wrong, which I found out later.


	6. Toris

About a week after Arthur brought Francis- the other Francis home, he decided that he would go out and make some friends properly. I wanted to go with him, but I had decided to stay home and make dinner for him, for when he returned. I had gotten into the habit of doing so before my leave. Arthur, as it turned out, was a terrible cook, and so I decided to cook for him from time to time. He wouldn't go out as I remained at his home, but he would sit and watch, trying to mimic my cooking style. It really was a nice time, and so it was a bit lonely when I cooked for him that night as he went out to the bar. After I finished, I looked over my work, a pretty perfect quiche, chicken on the side, a wonderful dinner.

I stood out on the porch, looking up at the moon. I wondered if I would stay down in Arthur's house, or may I say apartment, forever this time. But then I thought...maybe not. I figured that I was sent back to keep Arthur from doing anything else. I hadn't thought that he would do anything, but who knew at that point. I had thought that he wouldn't do so, and here just a couple of days before that night, he had done it again. Something in me continued to believe that Arthur wouldn't do anything after the next bad thing, and the next bad thing. I wanted to believe so at least.

Just as I was about to go inside, Arthur pulled up into the apartment parking lot. He stepped out of the car, and another man practically crawled out of the other side. I quickly walked back inside, making sure my dinner was still okay. Still nice. I heard Arthur unlock the door and watched as he came in with the stumbling man under his arms. He was making sure that he didn't fall...how nice.

"Nice place, um... Arthur was it?" The other man stopped and sniffed the air, smiling. "Did you cook before you left?" He stumbled over to my quiche and chicken, beaming and turning back to Arthur, who only shrugged.

"I didn't cook, no," Arthur nodded at me, "thanks." The other man didn't notice the gesture and quick exchange of words as I explained all that I cooked and how I prepared it and so on. I was only heard by Arthur of course, but I didn't really care. I continued to go on about the food and how it would keep Arthur and his visitor in good health, well...in comparison to other things that I could have made. Arthur listened as if I was a professor giving a lecture, the other man made a whole bunch of squealing sounds as he stuck his finger into a piece of the quiche.

He sucked on his finger and as I would have guessed, he really enjoyed it and savored the taste. "This is good! Do you have a wife or something? It tastes like a wife made it." Arthur shook his head and told him that he didn't with a bit of a blush. "Oh...no? A maid?"

I stopped Arthur from saying no. "Just say yes. Tell him that she left, and then if he ever asks on another day about her, tell him that you fired her." It made sense to me at least. A man that hires a maid for an apartment room, it sounded somewhat plausible. So Arthur told the man about his fake maid, and he simply nodded, sticking his finger in the quiche again. "Can we eat this?"

Arthur and his visitor sat down on a couch that I recognized from his other house and ate the quiche and chicken. "Arthur, what's your guest's name?" I asked because I was quite curious. I was also proud that Arthur had found someone that seemed relatable, or at least that's what I concluded between the man's drunken hiccups.

"So Toris," Arthur turned to the man, answering my question, "what else do you like? Any good bands that I might know or you think I wouldn't know but I actually do know? Hm?" Toris seemed startled by the question, jumping at Arthur's long string of questions and pausing to stare at him. "Arthur? Your eyes are pretty, did you know that?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his random observation, I quietly made my way back into the kitchen to steal a piece of quiche for myself. I was sure that Toris wouldn't notice and Arthur wouldn't care much. "You think so? Not a lot of people compliment me on my eyes." I felt Arthur's eyes boring into me and I couldn't help but laugh out nervously.

"I'm not complimenting your eyes again." I had done so once, but it wasn't notable. A short time before my leave, I had complimented him on his eyes, and he never replied to it, got mad at me for saying so even. I had thought that he didn't like it, but now I supposed that he liked the compliment more than I thought. Toris asked him what he was looking at, and he simply told him that he was looking at the time.

Arthur turned back to the brunette and clapped his hands together, "Would you like to watch TV? In my room?" He had cleaned and replaced all the sheets on his bed since the other day, so I also encouraged it. Toris agreed to do so and the two of them went into the bedroom and blah blah, probably did more than watch TV, but I found it was none of my business and only smiled when Arthur walked out of the room in his boxers, biting his nails.

"Oh, what's wrong? Tired? Can't tell your guest to leave?" I chuckled and laid on the couch, thinking I'd done such a good job, "I would tell him that you want to go to sleep so he has to go if that's what you're trying to tell him."

He shook his head and paced the kitchen, still biting his nails. "I like him, not as much as I like you, I like him as a friend and you, I'd marry you, I would." I didn't know if I wanted to be flattered or not and simply told him to get to the point. "I don't want him to leave." I paused, staring up at the ceiling, then I pondered his words. He didn't want me to leave, he didn't want Francis to leave, and now he didn't want Toris to leave.

Quickly rolling off the couch and standing, I looked Arthur dead in the eye. My sudden movements caused him to jump a bit, and he began to pace again. "Arthur...Arthur don't you dare. Don't. You. Dare."

Arthur chuckled and paced towards the quiche and chicken. "Don't I dare what?" He made his way over to me, circling his coffee table for awhile, until he walked over to the kitchen again. "Don't I dare what, Francis?"

"Don't you dare put a hand on him! Don't kill him, don't do anything to him, don't...don't touch him!" I screamed at him as he smirked and reached for his knives. He studied it and briskly walked towards his bedroom, where Toris was. "Arthur! Oh my goodness if you don't stop then you're...Mon Dieu please stop! Please!" I followed after Arthur into his bedroom to see Toris sleeping in his bed as naked as day. I pleaded with him not to harm poor Toris, not to thrust him into a world that he never asked for. He didn't listen, and before he plunged that knife into him, I rushed out and covered my ears, sliding down the wall, but this didn't muffle the blood-curdling screams that echoed throughout the apartment.

I whimpered and shut my eyes as tight as I could manage, hands still over my ears, screaming for Arthur to stop. I felt useless, I couldn't save Toris, couldn't save the nice man from Denmark, couldn't save the poor minor named Raivis, a rather charming man named Roderich, Ivan, Alfred, and countless other victims I didn't quite know. Though I did manage to save some...


	7. Gilbert

Arthur had killed many men at one point, so many that I felt like a freak for counting. I was under the impression that Arthur wasn't really counting his victims, but I kept count so I could constantly remind him that he was on a horrible streak. I was always asking him not to do anything to anyone anymore, but he rarely listened to me. I was simply his friend that couldn't leave, and he had long since left the lonely excuse behind, he was simply killing. Actually, he told me that he was killing to keep me with him. I questioned him on this, and he explained the observation he had made.

After he killed me, I remained with him for a while, then I left. He then killed Francis and I came back again, then he killed Toris and I remained with him longer than the first time. He stopped killing for a while, and I left again, so he killed the man from Denmark, and I came back. Of course, my arrivals and departures were not on my own accord, so he figured that if he continued to kill, then I would stay forever. When he came to that conclusion, I felt like I wasn't a very good guilty conscience, or whatever mind message sender wanted me to be. I was the reason for Arthur's murder spree, and I don't think anyone would want to be in that position, especially if you were dead yourself.

"You're going out. Don't pick up anyone please." I had asked Arthur this before he left that night, and he simply shrugged and apologized in advance. He had begun to apologize at some point, but I didn't quite remember when, but that was not the first time he did so. I stopped cooking food for him for when he came home, it seemed inappropriate, and I would not encourage his schemes with food. However, he got a job before he slaughtered Roderich, which left me alone in his apartment until he came home. At these times, I would cook for myself often, out of boredom. I would eat it and share it with the cat that came around outside sometimes. That cat disappeared after a while, which saddened me, but so goes life, I mean death.

The door opened and in came Arthur, looking absolutely irritated. "Francis, I picked up someone absolutely horrid. No one will miss him. I think even you would slit his throat." I shuddered at that, wondering when he had come to the point where he was killing just to kill. "He's coming, he's just strapping himself into his seat continuously. He didn't even drink and he's a damn idiot!"

I raised a brow at him and headed to the corner of Arthur's room that muffled sounds the most, until I heard a very familiar voice complain about how ugly Arthur's apartment was. "It smells really French in here! Do you have a French maid or something? It smells so damn French!" At that, I took a peek around the corner to see who this person was.

"Stop complaining, my god I think I'm going to hit my head against the wall." Arthur mumbled as he threw away the remains of the meal I had cooked for myself. The person he was speaking to was my friend, Gilbert, and I hadn't seen him since...I hadn't spoken to him since I had asked for a ride to Veronique's house. I couldn't help but gape at the man as I realized that he was exactly the same as I had left him, always trying to make fun of my background. We all did so to each other, so of course I didn't mind it, but it just seemed so...

Gilbert stared down at the food Arthur threw away. He probably would have recognized the food as the dish I had cooked for the last birthday of his that I was alive to celebrate, but considering that he thought of it as disgusting and hid it in his fridge, I wouldn't have expected him to remember. "I'm not complaining! It's just um...familiar." Feeling quite touched, I sat down on the couch and watched my life-hood friend stroll around the house, watched the small reminder of my old life begin to fall into Arthur's trap. "Ah hey man, got any chips? Beer? What?"

"We just left the bar! Ugh just... here, stay in here and watch TV, I'll get those." Arthur led Gilbert to his room and closed the door. He came into the kitchen and searched his drawers for the knife that he felt would cause the most pain. I jumped up and grabbed the knife out of Arthur's hands.

There was no way I would let him kill Gilbert. I may have been dead, but I was still his friend, and I certainly wouldn't allow my friend to be killed. "Arthur, if there was anyone out of all of these unfortunate souls that I had the power to spare, it would be this one." He raised a brow at me and chanted the dropping command. I dropped the knife back into Arthur's hand, but without an ounce of fear, I began to plead my case.

"Gilbert happens to be a good friend of mine that, along with other people, I happen to adore in a brotherly way." Arthur shrugged and walked pass me with the knife in hand. "And my deal was that I wouldn't kill you as long as you attempted to make friends and..." The man froze, most likely remembering very well the next part, "as long as you didn't harm anyone I knew and loved." As sick as my deal seemed, only using such a threat for people I knew, it seemed a bit more technical that way, therefore it seemed a bit more threatening.

He turned to me with a glare, still clutching the knife. "You wouldn't hurt me, right? I mean, I've been nothing but good to you, though I suppose I-I'm not a good listener at times but I'm always good to you!"

"As soon as you touch Gilbert, I will stab you a million times in the heart and you'll never see me again." I let that sink in for him, and I could tell that the mere idea of it was displeasing to him. I decided to emphasize it with a dramatic lean towards him, "Never. And I'll make sure of it." With this he put away the knife and went back in the room with Gilbert. I followed him in, watching as the two simply watched a marathon of an old cartoon.

That night, for once in Arthur's killing arc, was somewhat nice. All three of us were curled up on Arthur's bed, almost falling asleep, watching that show. Nothing else. In fact, as Gilbert spoke through most of the episodes, though it was more like mumbling, Arthur hardly said a word, I spoke more than him even. I caught up with Gilbert and his life, though he didn't know it. I kind of wanted to hear about Antonio too, but he never mentioned him. He seemed to be doing fine, and it was interesting to see that he had wandered so close to Arthur's new apartment. He lived a couple of blocks away from the apartment, and Arthur's old home was apparently a couple of cities away, so Arthur was closer to where I used to live. Gilbert had told Arthur some time that night that he wouldn't be able to visit him again because he was moving to the place that he had always wanted to go. He had never told me what it was when I was still alive, and he hadn't told Arthur either. I think...he simply wanted to move away.

When both Arthur and I woke, we noticed that Gilbert had left. He had left us a note, well he left Arthur a note I mean. It simply read, "Thanks! I really needed this!" I read the note over and over again, his childish writing bringing back fond memories of He, Antonio, and I. For the rest of the day, Arthur listened to me spill all about my childhood and my teenage years. I had to stop at certain parts since they hadn't been finished, but my story seemed to intrigue him, which for some reason I was really happy that it did. I never thought that I would be able to tell someone my life story after I died, and in the end, I did.


	8. Lovino

My birthday had passed and I was 26-years old, or so I wanted to believe. I wasn't sure if I was aging anymore, but I didn't forget my birthday. Sorry, I have not forgotten my birthday still. Any way, it was a couple of days after my birthday, which was celebrated between Arthur and I. It was sweet and all, but it was nothing like the elaborate birthdays I used to have. Elaborate? I meant that I was often surrounded with friends, wonderful food, and gifts. Oh how I loved gifts. Arthur had given me many fairytale books, mostly from England, but the book I liked the most was this book full of different stories, and it was all in French. He had thought that I was bored in his apartment when he went to work and so on, and for some reason, I couldn't help but feel overjoyed just to know that he had thought of my feelings! I'm being somewhat sarcastic of course, but either way, I was mainly overjoyed because I liked the books. I was never able to finish them.

Back on track, about a week after my birthday, Arthur went out again. He was going to a new bar that opened to see how it was. I didn't want to go with him of course. I wanted to read my new books, and I had long since abandoned going with him, attempting to convince him not to take anyone home with him. He never listened, so I gave up on that part. I made a futile effort before he would decide to kill someone, because at that time, his killings were dwindling. Sometimes he would bring someone over and kill them, but sometimes, after Gilbert's visit, he would have someone over and seriously have a good time with them. I enjoyed the latter times the most, but I really would feel for Arthur when the guests that he would spare wouldn't call him or anything ever again, especially since he feared that so much. He thought that I would do the same when I was trying to get to Veronique's house.

"Hey, I'm back!" Arthur yelled as he made his way into the house. Behind him was someone I recognized as Antonio's boyfriend person, we really never knew what he was to him, but he was always Lovino. I had hoped that Arthur had simply brought him over to hang out, though I couldn't help but think I wouldn't have cared if he did anything to him.

Lovino raised a brow and closed the door behind him. "Who are you talking to?" I could hear him murmuring something about Arthur being a nut and he hoped the movie wasn't too long. I wondered what he was talking about when he said so.

"Ah, sorry. I was speaking to my house," Arthur blinked at me and shook his head as if he was daydreaming. "So, that movie, yes I have it! Let me go get it out of my room." He quickly shuffled over to his bedroom and I watched as Lovino folded his arms and sat on the couch. He asked without an answer where the TV even was, and huffed when he was met with silence. Finally, Arthur stood in the doorway with a VHS tape in his hand, "Sorry, the TV is in here, but I found it."

The irritated Italian groaned and followed Arthur into the bedroom, and as did I. I wanted to ask little Lovi about Antonio I suppose, so I settled on Arthur's bed and began to wait for Arthur to turn the movie on. My plan was to interrupt at a slow moment in the film. About five or seven minutes into the horrid movie, I got Arthur's attention. "Arthur, do you mind asking Lovino how Antonio is?"

He flashed a look that pretty much asked, "Oh, so you know him?" Or maybe not? He rolled his eyes and continued to watch the film.

"Ask him like this," I adjusted my throat, "Correct me if I'm wrong but do you know Antonio? Antonio Hernandez Carriedo?" He nodded and asked Lovino my question, who seemed somewhat shocked as he stated that he indeed knew him. There was silence until I asked Arthur to ask Lovino how Antonio was doing. At this, Lovino frowned and stared at Arthur for a long while.

I hadn't expected Lovino to say anything bad about Antonio. I was expecting him to say something about Antonio's success and happiness but... "He's been unwell since um...since Francis went missing. Tried to kill himself twice," he paused to think about everything he could possibly say, "I had to break up with him but really I still see him every other day. The bastard can hardly be left alone."

Arthur was speechless, and as was I. Never, I would have never imagined. "Ask him why he tried to kill himself." Arthur did so as he pretended to be sucked into the movie. "And ask him who the hell is with Antonio now if he's like that! Mon Dieu is this my fault?" Arthur knew the answer to that. It was a bit of his fault wasn't it? He asked Lovino my questions and Lovino hesitantly answered.

"Yeah, don't worry, Feliciano is with him. And er...well, Francis, the dead one right? Well sorry, if you know Antonio you probably know the French bastard and that tragedy or whatever people call it too, so I'll spare you those details. Anyway, French bastard had asked for a ride and Antonio couldn't take him and all that shit, so he blames it on himself sort of. He's just being a whiner." At that, Lovino sighed and stared at the television until he asked, "Where's your bathroom?

Now it just happened to be that Arthur's bathroom had many pictures of his victims, after he dismembered them and such. It was interesting that Lovino had been the only victim that had asked for the restroom. Well, this wasn't quite true, it was just that recently, Arthur decided that it would be a nice place to hang the pictures on the wall. I for one didn't care about them. I had no use of the bathroom therefore I was able to avoid seeing such atrocities, but now that someone was there needing to go to the bathroom while the pictures were there, I was sure that Arthur suddenly felt doomed.

"Um, I'm sorry, but um...my toilet is broken." If he had said so to anyone else, they would have just shrugged and held their piss, but this was Lovino. He stood up and eyed the closed door next to Arthur's closet. Arthur stood as well, hurrying in front of the door and smiling, "Really, you're going to have to go to the neighbor's and ask them. It's not very good in here."

Lovino shoved Arthur out of the way and slammed open the door as he fell to the ground. "I just need to pee..." His voice trailed off as he turned on the light to see the gruesome pictures all around the bathroom walls. Arthur quickly stood up, turning off the light and closing the door.

"See? It's broken. Here, let's just...finish the movie." Hearing Arthur's nervous voice made me a bit nervous as well. I didn't know what would happen at that point, so I simply watched on. Lovino sat back down on Arthur's bed and agreed, a face that couldn't be read permanently plastered on his face. The movie wasn't ending any time soon I guessed, and it really was horrible...and awkward...and about homosexual rock stars. If I was in Lovino's shoes, I would have never came really, I mean it wasn't what the movie was about, it was just a horribly made British movie, which wasn't uncommon.

After a while, Arthur excused himself and I followed, wondering what he was doing, and if he was going into the kitchen, reaching for his knife drawer, I had a feeling that I knew what his plans were. "Killing someone I know and love, Arthur?" I asked in the most threatening voice I could manage. Really, Lovino and I weren't close at all, in fact we hated each other most of the time, but Arthur didn't have to know that.

He seemed scared really, but not because of my threat. "Oh gosh Francis, he knows, he knows! I can't just let him walk away!" He paced the kitchen with a knife in his hand, and I didn't bother to snatch it away, I began to wonder if Antonio would be way worse off without Lovino. I suddenly gave a damn about Lovino's well-being as Arthur made his way back to his room, knife behind his back.

"W-Wait! Arthur! If you kill Lovino then Antonio will be worse!" He didn't listen to me, but it seemed like Lovino was fully aware of what Arthur could do to him. So before my murderer plunged his knife into Lovino, the Italian punched him in the gut and ran out of the apartment, Arthur clutching his stomach on the floor. He regained himself and hurried to chase Lovino, but he was only fast enough to see him running around the corner of another building, screaming at the top of his lungs, and it was then that he knew that he was caught.


	9. Arthur

Watching Arthur seem so calm after so much had happened that week amazed me. He had been arrested on the night that Lovino escaped from him, who had told the police that there was 'some creep with dead people in his bathroom and he tried to kill me too'. Of course, he hadn't explained to them that they were only pictures, but they were very concerned and barged into Arthur's home, only knowing the location because Lovino pointed it out to them. They found Arthur's house nice and clean, but in his bathroom, they indeed saw the photographs. Pictures of heads halfway loped off, body parts sitting in a barrel of acid made from Soilex and other products, fearful expressions on the faces of the victims, and Arthur himself posing with some of the bodies. They checked for where this barrel was, and judging by the pictures, it was in Arthur's closet. And they were right. In the barrel were a couple of bones and other appendages.

They decided that this wasn't normal, so they arrested Arthur, who had been acting like a gentlemen until then. He tried to wrestle away from the handcuffs, but he was unsuccessful. I hopped into the police car, where the men had pretty much shoved Arthur into the back seat. I don't even think they read him his rights. Wait no, they did, it's just that Arthur was screaming through the whole thing. The whole time on the way to the station, Arthur ranted to me about everything that wasn't relevant to the situation, like how he had gone out with some girl who couldn't think for herself, and how he ran over a cat on the street and had felt bad about it ever since. I simply listened to him, not knowing exactly what to think of the moment. My murderer was finally caught, but I was wondering what was going to happen to me. Also, I really was worried about what was going to happen to Arthur. I hadn't been reading up on laws then, never did really, but I wasn't exactly sure of the consequences for killing so many people...for killing anyone really.

By the time it was time for the station to question Arthur, he had calmed down by a lot. The officer who sat across from us, well Arthur, asked for Arthur's cooperation and began to list the charges against him and who was assumed to be involved. From our perspective, he was simply listing the many men that came over and never left alive. He did not list my name, and a couple of others. To my surprise, Arthur sighed and shrugged at the man. "I'm caught any way, aren't I? I don't have much to hide anymore. I will cooperate with you, officer."

Arthur kept his word, answered all of the officer's questions, and listed the people that he missed. When asked, he explained how he created the acid, and so on. He told the man, who seemed very unnerved, that he did it to not be so lonely at first, then he told him that his objective changed to keeping me with him.

"So you're telling me that you have a ghost following you around that only stays if you kill unsuspecting young men...?" The officer was staring dubiously at Arthur as I waved. "Are you pleading not guilty due to insanity?"

"Not at all. He's right here, but if that's the best route then sure." Arthur quickly pointed to me, not even giving me as much as a glance.

And so then it was Arthur and I, alone in a little prison cell, the trial long passed, the relatives of the victims already half-heartedly apologized to, and we were pretty much just waiting. Arthur was not crying, and did not seem nervous at all. He seemed a bit pleased, yet thoughtful. I couldn't help but ask him what he was thinking of.

He looked up at me from his cot, seemingly surprised that I had spoken. "I...I'm not thinking about anything anymore really." He fiddled with his fingers and chuckled, "Everything is out of my mind now. I told you everything in the car that day, and I told them everything that was on my mind, and what they wanted and needed to know."

"So you're not thinking now. That sounds false." I sat down next to him on his dusty, poor excuse for a bed therefore it was renamed a cot years ago. "You're not thinking about death? Nothing?"

He blinked wildly as he noticed my presence next to him, then he directed his attention towards the floor. "You're right, I'm thinking. I'm not thinking about death though." He turned to me, a serious expression covering him, "I don't think you would have been so close to me, Francis. I think you would have went off to marry your Veronique and I would have been, not even your best man, but some lowly spectator. I probably wouldn't have been invited."

I decided that he had an odd imagination. "You know, I've picked up a very interesting thought while living with you, and that's 'whatever happens, happens'. Except, to make anything interesting, you have to make interventions. That seems to be how I went on about a lot of things." I scratched my head, and prepared myself to say something horribly sappy, "I think that maybe it was to be that you killed me and I had to stay with you this long. Maybe it was to be that little Raivis was killed by you. I no longer care that I'm dead really, especially since I am living the dead life at the moment, and I feel just fine." That was a joke, but Arthur thought it was poetic or something. He began to smile widely and leaned closer to me, stopping only because he remembered that he couldn't touch me.

"You're really accepting what I've done to you and everyone else? If so, Francis, I think I love you too much." He frowned at his inability to touch me, but smiled at my snicker.

"Not entirely, I'm just saying that maybe it was all supposed to happen." I paused and thought about my words, "I accept somewhat."

Arthur smiled wider and was about to say something until a guard stopped in front of his cell. He observed him settled so close to nothing, since he wasn't able to see me. He rolled his eyes, and mumbled something about Arthur being a crazy schizophrenic. "Before your execution, we would like to treat you to something. Request what you wish, but if we can't offer it to you then you will have to request something else." The guard held out his hand and counted his fingers as he listed things that Arthur couldn't request, "You can not request for freedom, well you can it's just we can't give it to you, sorry. You can't request immortality, you can't request sexual deeds, you can't request something that interferes with your execution, you can't request anything that costs too much money, you can't request anything too stupid- that's just my rule by the way. You can't request to be taken out of the city either. If there's anything I'm missing then Ill tell you."

Though it was somewhat depressing to hear the guard run through his list, I guffawed and began to ignore him. "So in other words, you can't request shit." Arthur snickered and stopped the guard from listing what he could actually request.

"I'll just have a cup of tea, if that's quite alright." Upon the Arthur's request, the guard raised a brow and began to walk away, until the Englishman stopped him, "And make sure it's not bagged. I expect the tea to be a lovely loose leaf, black preferred, and I expect it to be made properly and at a decent degree. Please don't add too much sugar either."

The guard walked backwards and crouched down to Arthur's sitting level. "Anything else your majesty? Do you want it in a special cup that only the cool kids drink out of? Do you want the tea to be from India? Crumpets? Biscuits? Scones?"

Arthur huffed at the guard's attitude and stared at me as I leaned back on the cot, probably seeming irritated to him. He turned back to the guard with a smile. "No, that's all. You've made it quite clear that if I did request such things then I wouldn't receive them. I'll stick to my very simple request, thank you." With that, the guard rolled his eyes again and walked off to either do the request himself or send someone else off to do it. "My stars, he had acted like I had asked for a million dollars."

"That's prison life for you. I'm sure he doesn't care how he treats you since you're not going to be here to have any say on that in a little while." I rolled over and stared at the walls, "Also, I wasn't planning on marrying Veronique."

"Oh whatever, but I actually never asked you...what exactly were you planning to do with your life before...well, before?" Arthur really seemed interested to know, but I didn't have a good answer really. The only things I had expected were the scandalous funeral and certain other silly things that weren't notable. My life was already on the role when Arthur ended it. I was simply a man working at a cafe, cooking the little meals on the menu, hanging out with my friends, gardening, dating Veronique and other people on the side that were so unimportant that I never bothered to even mention them and they probably didn't even care that I was gone. That was pretty much it, and I think that's how it was going to be for a long while.

Maybe I would have married Veronique, who knows, or maybe I would have married one of my best friends. I wouldn't have doubted it, we had all done some things together that I'd rather not mention. I would have never thought that I was going to be a murder victim, the first victim of a murderer at that, and I never thought that I would have to stick with him. And I never thought that I would be with him hoping that the electric chair didn't hurt him so much. I was sure that victims weren't supposed to care for their murderer's well-being, but I was, and I was thinking that maybe I was supposed to. "I wasn't planning anything," I finally answered, sitting up and smiling at the Brit, "so I guess I really do forgive you."

In my mind I was thinking that it wouldn't be right to nag him about it until he died. He was getting his "just desserts", he didn't need to be constantly reminded, and apparently he appreciated that I was no longer going to do so. His smile nearly stretched off of his face as he looked out for the guard to see if he was coming with his tea. "I'll share my tea with you. Want me to ask for a straw?"

Just as he was about to yell out for a straw, I stopped him. "Non, c'est bon. I'd rather you have it all." He frowned a bit and sat next to me again as I sat up.

"Do you think that if I die, I'll be a ghost too, and then we can still be close to each other?" He asked such a silly question in my opinion that it took everything in me not to laugh at him. "Is that a no?"

"Wow Arthur, I hate to say this but you're probably going to hell." That was me; Francis Bonnefoy, the dream crusher. I wasn't nagging him about it again! I was just stating what I thought! "It's interesting how none of your other victims became ghosts though. I myself am a ghost, oui, but I still have a suite in heaven- actually, that makes me a fallen angel doesn't it? Yes, I am a fallen angel, bonjour Arthur, I've come to say have fun in hell." I really hated myself sometimes.

He certainly looked appalled at my statements. I wanted to say that I was kidding, but I thought that I was probably right. I was probably going to hell for telling him that really, but I was really half way joking. "It's great to know that someone from Heaven doesn't want me there." He himself was probably unsure if I was kidding or not.

"What I meant was, since I already have a spot in Heaven, I will go there. You however, I highly doubt that you'll be allowed in there, no offense. It's either you'll be a ghost, which I also doubt, or you're going to hell. Maybe purgatory? I don't know. But let me tell you; Heaven is boring, so be glad that you're not going." I really was horrible.

Arthur seemed quite unimpressed, that and extremely saddened. "Um...thanks, Francis," he scratched his head and avoided eye contact with me, "I suppose I wouldn't really make it past the pearly gates, hm?"

"W-Well maybe not, but wherever you go I'll invite you over a lot, Arthur. I do believe I saw my neighbor invite someone from hell to live with them, and purgatory too, so I think it'll be fine." That wasn't a lie really, but I had never thought of inviting anyone to my suite. It was far too boring for company. This cheered Arthur up, and so did the arrival of his tea.

A new guard came, a cup of tea on a saucer in his hands. Behind him were two other guards, one who unlocked the cell and cautioned the tea guard before coming into the cell. Arthur chuckled at me when he saw how careful they were being, mostly because the guard with the tea wouldn't be able to do much if Arthur suddenly attacked him. "Hopefully this is to your liking." If the massive eyebrows didn't give it away, the strong accent the guard had made it clear that he was British as well.

Arthur took the tea from the guard and thanked him, taking a sip. "It's a very superb...cacao mint? Is that it?" He swirled the tea around in his cup and took another sip. "Yes, it is indeed cacao mint."

The guard waited for Arthur to down more of his tea. "I'm glad you recognize it. I'm also glad that I'm not the only one that goes to that place for tea." I had no idea what they were talking about. "I knew it had to be someone from the motherland if they were requesting such a complicated cup." He nodded and stepped out of the cell, watching as one of the other guards locked it again.

"Ah, make no mistake, it was a gift I received from someone who married in and didn't know any better. My brothers helped me collect teas from other places other than there, but I mostly go...went out of town for tea." The British guard smiled and left Arthur to enjoy his tea, the other guards followed. Arthur turned to me, holding the cup and saucer in his hands tightly, "I was actually going out to buy tea when I picked you up really. You simply distracted me."

"Pfft, nice to know." I supposed he wanted me freak out and be amazed, but actually as I look back, I think maybe he just wanted to tell me just for the sake of telling me. As with many things, he wanted to share with me, whether I wanted him to or not.

At nine at night, the cell opened again, another guard holding it open for Arthur to walk out as three other guards stood poised for anything that could have happened. Arthur was a bit tired really, he had been talking to me about nothing the whole time, nonstop until now. He didn't protest as he was escorted down the hall, me following behind, somewhat disliking the silence.

"Dead man walking," one of the guards sputtered, breaking the silence.

One of the other guards groaned and looked at him. "Oh my god, shut the hell up Dave, you say that every time."

I had no idea that guards could be so comical in such a serious situation. It wasn't even funny, more like unnerving, especially with the silence that followed after, and the noisy room that Arthur was placed into that didn't fit with our quiet arrival.

The room was plain and simple; a white room, a glass section where some regular old spectators watched as Arthur was guided around the room, a bulb that would light when Arthur was declared dead, some men in the back who seemed emotionless, a door so they could leave as fast as they came in, and last but not least, the electric chair in the middle of the room. It was an ugly little device, ugly indeed, and I frowned when they strapped Arthur into it. He was used to the tightness since he had gone through the rehearsal, which I thought was sick, but he seemed very uncomfortable. I would too if there were people watching me as I was about to be put down.

The crowd ranged from toddlers to senior citizens, which to me seemed really horrible. Why would you want your children to see someone get electrocuted? Why would anyone really want to watch someone die? I didn't understand, and I simply stood by Arthur's side, looking out at the crowd of about thirty people. There was a little boy who was staring at me, then he got his mother's attention and pointed to me. It was interesting that he could see me when apparently no one else could. She looked right past me, looking to see what her little boy was talking about, then she waved a finger in his face ferociously, probably telling him not to say crazy things or something. I shrugged at the boy and smiled, placing a finger in front of my mouth as if to tell him to stay silent about my presence. He looked confused, but he did so.

"The boy can see you can he?" Arthur asked, trying to smile as someone placed a blindfold looking thing over his eyes. "That's good, because now he's the only one who can."

I sighed and made sure that he could hear my dissatisfaction. "Your joke is pretty lame, you silly pitre." There was something in me that made me want to unstrap Arthur and hide him somewhere, but I knew that I couldn't. If the guard with the gun wasn't threatening enough, thinking that he would shoot Arthur if he so much as got out of the chair, there was also the fact that this prison was huge. I didn't know my way out the regular way, though if I passed through a couple of walls then I would be out in about less than a half an hour, but Arthur could not pass through walls, so that plan wouldn't work. I felt as if Arthur was trapped, and I couldn't help but sympathize with him. I put my hand over his, which was clutching the arm of the chair very tightly. "I'm holding your hand," I told him, knowing that he probably didn't know.

"I figured that you would do something like that." I stopped watching him to observe the man who was checking to make sure that Arthur was properly strapped in. "Are they about to put me down?"

He had asked me, but the man didn't know that of course. "Do you want the real answer or the fake answer?" He stepped back, looking over Arthur in the chair and adjusted the device on his head. Arthur asked for the fake answer, to my surprise. "Do you want the realistic answer or the unrealistic answer?" The man nodded at all his adjustments and listened as Arthur asked for both. "Unrealistic answer; you're not going to die. Another one is you're not going to die today. Realistic answer; you're not going to die in the next five minutes. I'll tell you the real answer since you can't do much about it."

"Please don't." Arthur protested, wiggling a bit. The man pulled his straps tighter and sighed at Arthur, who just seemed so innocent there, seeming like he was about to cry. "I don't want to know, please."

"The real answer is that you're going to die in the next three minutes or so. We're waiting for that physician. Slow bastard. He said he's coming though." Then the man walked away, flashing a thumbs up. I waited for that to be a realistic fake answer as well, but apparently he was telling the truth. There really was no physician to be seen.

Arthur gulped then took a deep, shaky breath. "Francis, I'm really glad that you stayed with me all this time even though you could have stayed at the apartment or disappeared again, I don't know. I truly apologize for dragging you into any mess that you didn't want to be involved in, but for the parts that you weren't mad, upset, or screaming for me to stop, we had fun right?"

I raised a brow at him, then chuckled. "Oui, we did." I didn't know what to say really. My teachers had never given me advice on what to say to someone who was about to die at the wrath of an electric chair.

"I really do love you, Francis." He really did seem like he would break out into tears at any second, or maybe he already was crying. With that blindfold thing, I couldn't tell anymore. "And I really am sorry."

"I would say I love you as well, but I never liked it when people said that to someone before they died but never before such circumstances." I didn't know if I was telling the truth then, but it sounded appropriate. "So um...I'll just say I already accepted your apology."

Before Arthur could say anything, the man from before cheered as another man who was probably the physician waltzed on in as if he wasn't late at all. "Physician's here! Let him have it!" I could tell that they didn't get much entertainment here, and maybe that was why they were complete assholes when it came to putting people to sleep at this prison.

Arthur whimpered and I muttered reassuring words to him. He spoke over me repeating in both English and French, "I love you, je t'aime Francis, Je t'aime I'm sorry I love you love you love you." I heard a loud cranking sound and then the bizarre sound of electricity running through the chords leading to Arthur. I watched as Arthur writhed in his seat, watched as his body went limp when they turned the electricity off. The physician came over, checking his pulse, his heart beat, his breathing. He nodded to the men in the back, and they turned on the bulb. Arthur was dead.

The crowd began to clap, some not knowing why, and just like that, I disappeared.

XxxX

_**A/N: So yeah, that's it. I'll write some of the chapters for the blanks in between if anyone asks, but overall it's done. Hope you liked it! D:**_


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